In Treatment
by clarielparke
Summary: In which renowned Coruscant psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud takes on his Force sensitive patients, and struggles with some eternal questions.
1. Ben

Sigmund Freud sighed, stroking his clipped white beard wearily. At 63, he was still the number one of his profession, the most highly esteemed one; The Top Dog. Curse Jung, Reich and all those foolish young disciples who had left him to set off on their own misdirected careers. Archetypes. Orgones. Primal shrieks. Shaking his head, Sigmund shuddered in righteous indignation at this heretic mess. Not only in his own mind, but also by professional reputation, Sigmund was the undisputed Master. The Master of the innermost mind; of the emotions and desires, conscious and unconscious, the dreams and fantasies of men and women, high and low. Inside his lofty, 65th floor Coruscant Office, reclining on their backs on the ancient velvet divan in the _Herr_ Doctor's office, his patients would divulge it all. The innermost secrets of the human mind; the secrets of the Galaxy and of the Universe itself. Yet, Sigmund did not consider himself to be a philosopher or a religious man. His clear bright mind was that of a scientist. A pure tool of laser blade sharpness.

Yet, lately one question had kept creeping up on him with alarming frequency. Encroaching on his mind at hours late and early; even in his sleep. Indeed, he blamed that foolish bastard Jung for setting it all off initially. The man's blatant flaunting of all professional rules, turning his most attractive female patients into his lovers, had released a dam of feelings in Sigmund's mind. Indeed, these urgent questions had just been waiting to erupt. Ever since he was in his middle twenties, a brilliant and daring young society doctor inventing the so-called "talking cure", it had all been building up to this. For some reason, people had always trusted Sigmund implicitly, allowing themselves to settle back comfortably and share their innermost thoughts with him. Their innermost thoughts and most secret desires. Frankly, it had been the most exciting thing he could ever imagine. A journey into the abyss and beyond, into heavens and paradises, hells and pleasures that he'd never even imagined could have existed. Force. It had all shook him to the core. At the age of 63, he was firmly addicted to it, shackled to his daily dosage of the hits of secrets. Still…

Of course, being of an analytical and scientific bent, he'd attempted to systemize his newfound knowledge in any ways he could. There were patterns. Patterns, themes and questions. Some of his colleagues preferred to turn their study subjects into 'zeros', humans rendered null and void in terms of personal context and identifiable characteristics. However, Sigmund was the opposite. In fact, he'd always been something of a diehard romantic. Sigmund wouldn't ever dream of turning his patients into 'zeros'. Instead, he recreated them as his 'Case Studies', literary characters that embodied the Human Dramas that he wanted to display and paint. So far, this approach had been ridiculously successful. People loved to read them and discuss them; regardless of whether they were patients or colleagues. Indeed, many people had claimed to be an original Case Study patient, just in order to gain popular celebrity status. Such antics merely made Sigmund shake his venerable white head. Because let's face it, apart from financially, he'd been caught up in a standstill. Trapped in a corner. Facing a mirror, and unable to obtain the answer.

The Question that had haunted him ever since the outset of his career. 40 years of listening, of trying to get it all to make sense. Still, he couldn't understand it. And from all that he'd ever gleaned, neither could any of his male patients. The Question echoed in them all, eternal and unanswerable.

 _Was Will das Weib?_

What does a woman want?

Oh, he'd listened to them all right. In practice a chaste man, he'd been impeccably faithful to his wife of 40 years. But then, his ears were quite another matter. They'd been fucked, gangbanged, seduced, raped and made love to more times than he'd put his cock in his wife's cunt. There wasn't a single cell of innocence left in his body, and it was all his own doing. Sigmund's mapping of human desire had taught him all sides to a story. Except this. No matter how he reached out, he failed to conceptualize the elusive answer.

Maybe she doesn't want anything at all. Except possibly to be desired.

Maybe only men are capable of desire.

That would certainly be the cleanest, easiest solution.

The thought had struck him more than once. Particularly at times like these, when a female patient was failing to make any sense whatsoever to him.

" _Ja_. _Frau_ Diershmied, it would appear you find your husband quite inadequate in bed. On the other hand, your current lover doesn't treat you with the respect that you crave. In fact, none of them seems to understand who you are or what you want. We'll stop at that point for today."

The beautiful blonde woman swung her long elegant legs down off the deep red velvet of the Freud divan. Rising, she adjusted the tight skirt of her perfectly tailored white suit. She paused briefly to wipe a surreptitious tear out of the corner of one large blue eye, careful not to smudge the black mascara of her long thick lashes. Then, she raised her head to flash the Doctor a warm smile.

"Thank you, _Herr_ Freud. I don't know what I'd do without our weekly sessions. They're so rewarding! That was real eye opener for me! I swear, it's like you sense the very texture of my soul! Well, thank you yet again. I'll see you next Thursday."

" _Auf Wiedersehen,_ _Frau_ Dierschmied."

Shaking his head internally, Sigmund watched the tight wiggling of the lady's small, perfectly rounded ass as she exited his office. Laura Dierschmied was exactly the baffling type of woman who had made him start to pose these questions in the first place. Exhausting and exciting.

What does a woman want, indeed. With a sigh, he turned his eyes to the yellow paper post it note that his wife had left him on the bathroom mirror this morning.

 _Don't Forget!_

 _Holiday Candles (the thick kind, with writing)_

 _Wrapping Paper & Ribbon (No, for Force's sake no blue this time! Tell salespeople Holiday colours)_

 _Transparent cellotape (not matte!)_

 _Super Glue (empty all their supplies!)_

 _Bantha Baste (the liquid kind)_

Well used to receiving these directive missives each morning, Sigmund stared down at the yellow post it note in bafflement. Suddenly, none of the words made any sense.

 _Was Will das Weib?_

Yeah, what the kriff do they want?

Force. He could feel himself approaching some kind of revelation here. Or maybe a massive coronary. Something was rumbling, turning over deep inside his being. Something-

" _Herr Doctor_ , your 10 o'clock is here. Ben Solo." The voice of his receptionist, Chrysella Klein, erupted through the intercom.

Reaching for his notepad, Sigmund nodded to her invisible eyes.

"Send him in, Chrysella."

Sigmund knew the signs. Whenever he was about to reach some kind of major scientific breakthrough or revelation, his thumbs would itch. Well, right now it wasn't just a case of thumbs. Both of his hands were fiddling restlessly, wanting to write things down. Force. The Need. The Want. Oh yes. He was approaching that one perfect, crystal bright moment of pure revelation. The one he'd started to prepare himself for years ago. He-

The door swung open, almost breaking off its hinges. Of course, Sigmund had had all aspects of his office security reinforced some 20 years ago, when he began to take on Force sensitive patients. The tall, broad shouldered young man stopped momentarily, allowing the door to swing back shut with a dramatic bang. He was staring down into the parqueted floor, his longish silky black hair falling down into his eyes. An angry red welt marked the side of his right cheek.

Somewhat annoyed at the intrusion into his private world of revelation, Sigmund nevertheless acknowledged the presence of his current patient. Anything less would have been extremely remiss of him. Besides, he was still examining his new ideas and doodling them down on his notepad.

"Welcome, Ben. The divan is yours."

Well, some of his patients always needed an invitation or acknowledgement in order to lie down on the divan. Ben Solo was certainly one of these. He'd been seeing Sigmund regularly for some four years, but the process hadn't been continuous. During the first three years, the young man had been a severely conflicted teenager, torn apart and unusually affected by the structure and heritage of his family. Abandoned by his mother, who'd been busy with her New Republic General duties, and his errant scoundrel space cowboy of a father, the boy had been prone to violent emotional tantrums on a somewhat reckless scale, causing Sigmund to further reinforce the walls, doors and cabinets of his office. At one particularly poignant moment, 14-year old Ben Solo had caused the entire left wall of Sigmund's office to shatter, reaching out to push an unseen entity away while fighting not to cry over his father failing to appear as promised for his birthday. Now, that particular incident had caused Sigmund to have to relocate his offices to the 15th floor for an entire year while the original walls were being repaired. While recognizing the boy's strong involuntary reactions and powers in the Force, Sigmund had still been, let's face it, somewhat peeved. Still, a year ago he'd allowed the young man to resume his psychoanalysis. The reasons thereof were clouded. Maybe it was because Sigmund had had a secret crush on Leia Organa, the boy's mother, some 30 years ago. Maybe it was because something about the boy had caught in him, embedding itself like a long sharp thorn. Or maybe it was because this time around, Supreme Leader Snoke was paying. A regular, dependable client, sending his young successor to Sigmund for emotional and cognitive alignment.

Or maybe not. Maybe Ben Solo was paying for his psychoanalysis himself.

The young man's deep brown eyes flared dangerously. Still, he was following his usual procedure by unclasping his cloak and throwing it down on a red velvet armchair by the corner near the entry door. For a brief moment, he stood quite still, staring at Sigmund, breathing heavily as if being Force choked by some unseen entity. Then, he tore his black satin and leather tunic open to join the black utility cloak on the armchair. Unbuttoning his thin black silk shirt at the neck, he threw himself down on Sigmund's divan. He was breathing heavily, his broad athletic chest heaving uncontrollably. The long strong fingers of his big right hand pushed his black hair away, tangling in it.

Silently cursing this mental intrusion into the great revelation of his crucial intellectual insight, Sigmund nodded encouragingly.

"Welcome, Ben. Please speak. I can tell that something's happened."

 _Well, of course things always kriffing happen. That's what life is all about. Still, you try to make them talk and not waste your time with nonsense. Sometimes you have to be direct._

The young man was breathing heavily, clenching his hands into large fists. Twisting on the red velvet divan, he bit his lower lip. Contorting as if in unbearable pain, he lashed out and smashed his fist into the wall on his left side. Miraculously, the wall stayed put.

"I… I met a girl." An intense shiver ran through his muscular, athletic body.

"Ah. What happened?"

"She… she…"

Oh, he was really struggling. Still, no words came out. Out of pure curiosity, Sigmund decided not to humour him. Silently, he doodled in his notebook.

 _What does a woman want._

"She… she's always been there. I mean, in my mind! I mean, I sensed her! Oh, you couldn't understand unless you met her… Those green and gold sparks in her eyes …"

The young man was hammering his fist into the reinforced left wall repeatedly. Well, good luck with breaking though that, Ben. Somewhat annoyed, Sigmund nodded.

"Ok, Ben, so you met a girl. Apparently, she made quite an impression on you. What is her name?"

The young man twisted violently on the divan.

"Don't you kriffing call me that! My name's not Ben! Not anymore. It's Kylo. Kylo Ren. I told you so when I came here last year to resume our talks, old man. Ben Solo's dead. I killed him myself. He was weak and foolish, like his father."

Sigmund's white eyebrows rose a fraction. Doodling on his notepad, he considered the options.

 _Hm. Renouncing the Name of the Father. That's a tough one. Maybe I should refer him to Lacan; he's an expert on that kind of stuff. Still, rejection might cause him to implode. Better focus on the girl._

"Kylo. Tell me about the girl. How did you meet her? Where?"

The young man had covered his eyes with his right hand.

"I met her on Takodana. I was on a mission. I mean, I've told you, haven't I? I tell you everything, Sigmund, and you tell no one. Right?"

Force. The boy must really be scared shitless of his mother. Or maybe he just downright hated her for sending him away to a remote island to train with a bearded hermit in the most obscure kind of boarding school. Momentarily, a fierce arrow of pity shot up through Sigmund's chest. It wasn't the first time that that kind of feeling had surfaced in listening to the young man. Dealing with it in a purely professional manner, he noted it duly and then let it pass right though him.

"I won't tell anyone, Kylo. You know that." Now, that at least was the diehard truth.

The young man had torn his shirt open in some kind of fit of agony, exposing his bare muscular chest. His long black locks tangled around his face. His long legs were contorted around one another, clenching painfully. And then-

And then, he just relaxed. His brown eyes opened to stare out into deep space.

"I met her on Takodana, but it all started on Jakku. I received a message saying that… Well, I mean someone told me that she'd taken care of a droid that belonged to… the enemy." He faltered, then resumed, turning over on his side to stare unseeingly into the left wall.

"She was nothing. Scavenger, slum child, young trash chick who means nothing to nobody. They sent me the reports." A stark tremble passed through his muscular body again.

"You see, I had to find her, don't you?" His voice rose in some kind of desperation.

"Of course I do." Sigmund nodded noncommittally. He was starting to relax, sitting by his patient's head and staring straight into the wall opposite him. There, his own portrait gazed back at him serenely, making him sleepy. The image was starting to speak to him.

 _Ok, Sigmund, let's do this_. _What do women want? Our entire scientific career might hinge on this._

Laura Dierschmied stretched out on his divan; her skirt riding up over her long elegant legs. The tight white suit hugging her curves while she lamented the deficiencies of her husband and lover. A discreet tear falling from one of her lovely blue eyes.

His wife's sharp, acid yellow post it notes plastered to the bathroom mirror every morning, with their absurdly specific messages.

His receptionist, Chrysella Klein, who each Thursday appeared to go through a stunning and inexplicable metamorphosis. Upswept hair, bright scarlet lipstick. Her large green eyes edged in black kohl. Tight bright sleeveless dresses; black transparent silky stockings. High heels. The sudden unexpected flashes of cleavage, for Force's sake. Usually, the girl would be conservatively dressed in a prim grey business suit. On Thursday's like today, she sat behind her desk looking like a high priced call girl. More than once, an accidental peek at her exposed cleavage had caused Sigmund to almost stumble on the threshold of his office. Come Friday, the girl's looks would be back to normal.

So, what in the Force's name was going on?

On the divan, the young man formerly known as Ben Solo was staring dreamily up into the ceiling. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. The casually unbuttoned shirt exposed his hairless muscular chest. His athletic arms were carelessly thrown back over his head, as if in complete surrender. Behind the round spectacles, Sigmund's wise old gaze sharpened. Was that a significant hardon, bulging through the young man's tight black trousers?

"I found her there, alone deep in the woods. She'd been attempting to escape. Of course, we both knew it was futile. The girl I'd heard so much about. Oh Force, I don't know why I said that! I mean, no one had mentioned her except for one of our commanding officers. She refused to turn and look at me, but I could sense the fear and hatred in her mind. Her… her mind was open to me. I swear Sigmund, it was kriffing beautiful! I hadn't even seen her kriffing face, and yet I knew she was The One. So, I decided to ignite my lightsaber. You know, to show her my powers in the Force."

Sigmund flicked his bushy white eyebrows, staring distractedly down into his notepad. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to carry a long fiery weapon like the one that his young patient had. Of course, he'd always known about the boy's inferiority complex. For years, it had been one of the main themes in the psychoanalytic work. Now, it also appeared to be erupting into his relationships with the fairer sex.

"Ok, B… Kylo. So, you hoped to impress the girl by flashing her your lightsaber. You told me six months ago that you have a new deluxe kind. I gather that you placed it in the Cabinet as usual on entering?"

He cast a sideways leftwise glance at his prostrate patient. Of course, having them lying down flat on their backs had some decided security advantages. Apart from the sizeable bulge in his black trousers, the young man's crotch area was indeed devoid of weapons. Sigmund nodded, satisfied.

"Yes, yes. Chrysella took care of it, along with my other gear. Don't distract me by asking crap questions like that."

Galvanized by irritation, the young man twisted restlessly on the divan. In his seat next to the silky black haired head, Sigmund didn't even deign to answer.

"So, I decided to take her. I mean, I just reached out and passed my hand behind her head. The Force did the rest. It's like extinguishing a light, really, except of course it will turn back on again. She passed out, just like that. I caught her in my arms and lifted her. That was the first time that I saw her face. I swear to you, old man. That was the loveliest sight I ever saw. Her long dark eyelashes, shading her cheeks. That smooth pale skin, so soft to the touch. The pulse in her long neck, beating like a drum. Her full red lips…" The young man's voice was hoarse.

"Of course, I didn't kiss her. You can't kiss an unconscious girl. But Force, Sigmund, I really wanted to! I really kriffing… Never mind. So I just carried her onto my spacecraft and locked her into the Interrogation Unit. We didn't need the droid. The girl had all I wanted."

In his chair, Sigmund sighed with the world-weary wisdom of an ancient man. Really, his patient's seduction technique left much to be desired. Here, clearly was another one as baffled as himself at the eternal question.

 _Was Will das Weib?_

What do those kriffing bitches want?

But clearly, the answer was close. He could sense it, with every fibre of his being. Also, something else was prodding him. The urgent mental push of his young patient's need for verbal feedback. Distractedly, he nodded.

"So, you met a young female and was attracted to her. You abducted her and locked her down in the Interrogation Unit of your starship. Then what?"

The young man covered his face with his big hands. A sudden intense tremble of emotion shook his large athletic body. The solid foundations of the antique red velvet and ebony divan, built some two thousand years ago on Alderaan, creaked ominously.

"I… I just sat there, looking at her. I can't explain it, Sigmund! I just couldn't tear my eyes away. She looked like she was sleeping. Peaceful, beautiful. I had a sudden wild longing to keep her there with me, forever. Oh Force. Whoever placed that crazy urge in my mind? Force. I just couldn't stand the thought. So, I was kind of relieved when she finally woke up."

 _Women. Crazy, beautiful, elusive. Utterly incomprehensible. Whatever you do or say, it's always somehow wrong._

The mirror image on the opposite wall was speaking, nodding sagely.

Writing something on his notepad, Sigmund nodded distractedly. Really, he had no idea what that one word was. Instead, he attempted to sharpen his mind and focus on his patient's tale.

"Ok, Kylo. Tell me what happened."

The young man was panting, staring off into the distance. On his right cheek, the angry red welt seemed to flare up. Something about the wound caught Sigmund's sudden interest. Was that a laserblade injure? If so, his patient had better get into bacta straight away to avoid being permanently scarred.

"She… She called me a monster. She said I was a coward not to show my face. So, I removed my helmet. I mean she… I… Ok, so Snoke would never, ever, understand. But you do, don't you, Sigmund? I mean, I just wanted her to see…"

The old psychoanalyst nodded sagely. "You wanted her to see the real you."

" _NOOO!"_

The young man trashed violently on the divan, punching his fists up at the reinforced ceiling as if striking at an unseen enemy.

"Fuck it, Sigmund! I just wanted to overpower her! I mean, if she would see I was a human being, just like her, she'd…" He faltered, attempting to get his breath under control.

Bored by the human drama that he'd seen a thousand times before, Sigmund doodled in his notebook. This only proved his point. In spite of being young and possibly the most powerful Force sensitive being that the Galaxy had ever seen, the boy was floundering in the same impossible dilemma as himself.

 _What does a woman want?_

Oh, screw it a thousand times over. Why wouldn't blue ribbon do? He'd always liked the colour. In the background, his young patient's voice kept droning on.

"She… She was drawing me in, Sigmund! I mean, her mind was calling to me! Something about her…I mean… It's like the first strawberries that you pick in summer. The kind my Mother used to give me, before she sent me off to Uncle Luke's training camp. The taste is like a kiss and a stab at the same time. The sweetest taste, and yet you know it means she hates you and can't wait to get rid of you. She…"

The words were muffled underneath the big hands, covering the young man's face like a mask. Unless Sigmund had known that the current occupant of his divan belonged to the First Order, he would have sworn that there were tears running predictably underneath those hands. But Ben Solo, or Kylo Ren as he was currently styling himself, was nothing but not unpredictable. Removing his large hands from his big nosed, slashed young face, he stared into the ceiling with a beatific expression. Suddenly, his big form was quite relaxed. The sudden change made Sigmund somewhat wary.

"So… So I decided to enter her. Her mind, I mean. She'd give it to me, willingly or not. I told her so. 'You know, I can take whatever I want.' I… I wanted…"

He closed his brown eyes momentarily. With the long black eyelashes spread out over his pale cheeks like twin fans, his face looked unexpectedly young and peaceful.

"I saw her, Sigmund! Her parents had left her on that sandy dumpster of a planet when she was just 5 years old. Her mind kept crying out for them. Still, she's a survivor. She knew how to take care of herself. I sensed the need in her. She wanted to return there to wait for them. It's kriffing sad. I could sense they'd left her there, to go away and die for something that mattered more to them than their own child. They'd abandoned her for something more important. Well, that's what parents are like. So, I told her it was useless. Just like her harking on to kriffing Han Solo. Apparently, she's got some piloting skills. The old bastard picked up on that and offered her a job. She didn't take him up on it. Smart girl." His voice turned into a vicious snarl.

Startled, the old psychoanalyst turned to examine his patient's prostrate form.

"This girl met your father, B…?" He checked himself hastily. Still, the unspoken name hovered in both their minds. On the divan, the big muscular young man stiffened. Then, he just nodded, his voice grim.

"Yes. Apparently, she hijacked his old starship from a junkyard on Jakku. Yep, that's the Millenium Falcon, Sigmund. Kriffing pile of junk. The first thing I drove while learning how to pilot things that move and travel in deep space. Anyway old man, we've been through that some 4000 times already. I'm not paying you 80 000 GCS per session for reruns."

So, the boy was paying for his psychoanalysis himself, instead of charging Supreme Leader Snoke or Leia Organa. Now, that actually meant that he was making huge progress and seriously invested in his treatment. Sigmund nodded approvingly. Possibly, this line of investigation might also lead him to some interesting revelations of the workings of the female mind.

"Of course, B… Kylo. So, how did the girl respond to you reading her mind and revealing her secrets? You know, as a psychoanalyst I have to advise you to approach with extreme caution on that kind of road."

Something wild flared up in the young man's brown eyes. The already impressive bulge in his tight black trousers expanded significantly.

"I entered her mind, Sigmund. She yielded easily enough. However, I could feel her responding in an unexpected way. I mean she…"

He closed his eyes momentarily. "It's like my presence started some kind of reaction. As if I set her off. I mean, big time. She literally exploded, all around me. Stars and fireworks. Then, she set about to do the same to me."

Sigmund's bushy white eyebrows flew up. "You mean you actually had intercourse with this young woman, Kylo? And that she… ehrm… penetrated you in some unladylike fashion?"

The young man shook his black locked head wildly.

"NO! May the Sarlac eat your stupid brain, old man! Haven't you been paying any kind of attention whatsoever? The girl's a Force sensitive, like me. She is exceptionally strong. When I entered her mind, she just retaliated, ok? She went into my head and sensed an ancient fear of mine by means of the Force. Excuse me? Which one? Oh, we've been through that one a thousand times already! Something about Grandfather and what he means to me. But shit Sigmund, she really scared me! I mean, I know that I'd removed my mask for her. But she… She took it one step further. During those brief moments, she walked into my mind and saw everything about me. The girl's a kriffing Force sensitive, Sigmund! That's why I can't get her out of my mind. She's like me, just untrained. We're two of a kind."

"Ah. You consider this girl to be your chosen mate?"

In spite of himself, Sigmund was intrigued. Of course, he figured that with women being what they were, his young patient was in for some kind of unpleasant surprise. Then again, you never knew.

Down on the divan, Ben Solo was clenching his hands tightly together as if fighting hard to avoid strangling someone. Then, he just relaxed and fell back, staring eerily into space.

"She's strong in the Force. If you don't know what that's like, you really cannot understand. I wanted to take care of her, to teach her how to use her powers. I… Ok, so I wanted her. It's like an odd kind of hunger. Like it's all been pre decided, by somebody else. I can't explain it, Sigmund! I just knew the Force was pulling us together. It charged me up like lightning. And then, I made a mistake. Although in retrospect, I'm wondering if I didn't set her up for some kind of test."

Ok, so Ben Solo had finally fallen in love and was now going about it in the same way he always did things; pure obsessive-compulsive style alternating with impulsive explosiveness. As far as Sigmund could tell, his chosen lady would be in for quite a ride. However, he himself had more important things on his mind. While the young man was talking, droning on in the background, he sensed the answer to his question pushing up through his unconscious, struggling to be recognized.

 _What does a woman want?_

Maybe if he'd get her some yellow ribbons for this year's Hanukka presents? Yellow is the opposite of blue. How would Martha react to that? Was that what she wanted?

"I swear on the Force, Sigmund, I could only have been gone for like ten minutes. Call of nature. Ok, so I was embarrassed to have her see the state of me, ok? I had to take care of things to gain control. I can't perform interrogations with a raging hardon. It's difficult enough to have to suffer them in here, with you."

"That's quite all right, Kylo. We all get them occasionally."

"Yeah, right. I bet when some hot chick lies down here on this very divan to tell you all about her sexual fantasies, you're all raring to go, right? Force, forget I ever said that! I mean, that sounds like something Han would say! Anyway, he's history."

"History?"

A slight blush tinged the young man's pale cheeks.

"Yeah. He kind of, might have, you know… fallen onto my lightsaber."

" _Fallen!?"_

The beautiful, slashed young face froze. The young man struggled, gaining control of his breathing with some amount of effort.

"Snoke ordered me to do it. It was a kind of test, to check my strength. I did it, Sigmund! I passed the test. I proved my strength. Surely you see that, right?" There was a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Sigmund frowned. "You actually killed your father, Ben? I mean, we've been through this fantasy of yours before. It's not uncommon for young males with neglectful fathers to have dreams of killing them. In fact, it's quite common."

The young man was twisting restlessly on the divan, as if attempting to escape. When he finally spoke, his voice was strangled.

"Just can it, old man. Ok? Han Solo's dead. I did it. If you don't believe me, check things on the holonet. It's bound to be all over the place."

For once, Sigmund was speechless. Speechless, but neither shocked nor horrified. In fact, the capacity for moral outrage had abandoned him a long time ago. Nowadays, nothing could surprise or shock him. Instead, there was just intense interest and curiosity.

"How do you feel about this, Ben?"

He'd dropped the pretences altogether. Clearly, nothing but addressing the young man by his given name would do. Oh well. You gain some and you lose some. After all, the 15th floor wasn't _that_ bad. He guessed that in the name of science, he could endure another year there.

On the red velvet divan, the young man had curled up in a fetal position. Sigmund couldn't see his face. Still, without actually being a Force sensitive, over the years he'd developed a near preternatural sense of the feelings and emotions of others.

 _Pain._

Oh fuck. This was bad.

Without seeing his face, he sensed the tears in the young man's eyes. The pain and rage ravaging him, that had struck a core in Sigmund some 16 years ago, when the boy first began his treatment. Then, suddenly the large body relaxed. An odd sense of peace invaded Sigmund's mind. On the divan, the young man was staring up into the ceiling. His face had gone ghostly pale.

"He stroked my face, Sigmund. That bastard dared to caress my cheek. Even after he realized that he was a kriffing goner. He begged me to come home. What a kriffing joke. Where was he when I needed him? Out scouring the Galaxy, scoring a trade deal or another. Force. Snoke was a better father to me than he ever was. So were you, Sigmund. At least, you were both there. You still are. That's… But he's fucking gone for real this time. At least… I mean, in my mind he's…"

Frowning, Sigmund stared into the eyes of his own image, emptying his mind. His own personal trick of clearing his head of his patients' pain, in order to be able to focus.

"It's all a kriffing jumble after that. Something hit me. A bowcaster shot, I think. The pain kind of woke me up. Someone was screaming at me not to do it. Her voice kept echoing into my mind. Nails were tearing the flesh off my bones. It… She… She saw me do it, Sigmund! And then, she just took that kriffing traitor's hand and ran away. She ran away from me! I mean, I just couldn't let her escape. Force, I need her!"

The frown deepened.

"Wait, Ben. Please, slow down. You're losing me here. You're talking about the young woman that you'd just interrogated? She saw you kill your father? How did she… Oh."

"Yes. It's my own fault! I awakened her Force powers, and she used them to escape. Kriffing ironic, isn't it? She saw me do the deed, and now she hates me for it. There… there was another guy there. A black dude. One of the stormtroopers, who had defected. Force! I sensed he was a traitor, even back on Jakku. They ran away together. Force! I just had to get her back, Sigmund! You understand that, right?"

 _But maybe yellow ribbon is too Easter-ish. What about white? It's no colour at all, yet encompasses them all. I bet Laura Dierschmied picks white ribbon for Hanukka. Hm. But Martha might…_

"Yes, Ben. You fell for a young woman and she ran away with another man, while you were at a particularly vulnerable moment. That must have been a disappointment to you."

On the divan, the young man was lethally still, staring out into deep space with his dark eyes. His features had gone deathly pale, like frozen snow.

"I stopped them in the woods. The girl rushed at me to attack me, but I used the Force to throw her into a tree and knocked her out. Then, the guy attacked me with a lightsaber. A kriffing lightsaber, Sigmund! And not just any old blue blade. That weapon belonged to my grandfather! Yes, I know! That's kriffing sacrilege. Force knows how he'd come by it. That blue blade is mine. And he kriffing dared to attack me with it! What a moron. Everyone knows non Force sensitives can't handle lightsabres."

Sigmund's white eyebrows knitted in interest. "You felt attracted to a blue blade, Ben? Why, that's…"

The deep voice was a snarl. "Of course I kriffing did! That sabre's mine, by birth! That filthy traitor had stolen it from me. That and my girl. So, I decided to teach him a lesson. His lightsaber technique was a joke. Complete disaster. I had him knocked out cold in 30 seconds flat. Stupid bastard passed out and dropped the weapon. I reached out to call it up into my hand. But then… Then…"

His voice was trembling. Curious, Sigmund noticed the odd arousal in it.

"The girl. She willed the weapon to her by means of the Force. Yes, of course she used telekinesis! Force, she's so strong! When she ignited the weapon, I could see that strange gleam in her eyes. She'd found her calling. Of course, she'd never used one of them before. It was her first time. But brother, did she know how to fight! I know true talent when I see it."

He shook his black locked head in admiration. The bulge in his black trousers seemed to have expanded.

"Still, I mean she was untrained. I kept driving her back through the woods, poking her just enough with my sabre to show her I meant business. Her reflexes were so fast, her movements so precise, so sharp… Whenever she stopped to face me, her thrusts and parries were kriffing perfect. Still, I was closing in on her. I knew I'd get her in the end."

"Hm. And just what had you planned to do to her once you caught up with her, Ben?"

Sigmund realized that his own male organ had expanded alarmingly from listening to this somewhat sordid tale. At the outset of his career, this had occurred with a worrying frequency, causing him to arrange for his patients to lie down at his left side in order to ensure they couldn't see him. 40 years later, he hadn't gotten a rise out of a patient's story for some 15 years. But here it was. Well, this might be significant.

"I… I… I've no idea, Sigmund! I mean, I just wanted to bring her back with me. To keep her with me. I wanted to show her everything, to… You know, introduce her to all the marvellous parts of having powers in the Force. To show her all the wonders it might bring. So, when she stumbled back and almost fell over the edge of a precipice, I caught her and held on to her. Force, Sigmund! I had the hardon of a lifetime. Still, I… I mean, with a girl like that, you can't just… Her lips were just so close, I…"

"So, I told her the truth. That she needed a teacher. That she needed me."

 _Was Will das Weib?_ Poor Ben. Sigmund shook his head in a mixture of admiration and genuine pity.

"You mean you told her that you needed her. Somehow, I doubt she heard you."

The young man's brown eyes stared dreamily up into the ceiling. Doubtlessly, he was imagining the face and figure of his errant goddess.

"She closed her eyes. And then, something miraculous happened. I mean, she just blossomed before my eyes. Her face, it… It turned so kriffing beautiful, it stabbed me through the heart. It was like a kriffing revelation. In that moment, I saw everything I'd ever wanted. I hadn't even realized it before."

He was panting, tearing his black silk shirt down further to bare his broad muscular chest down to his spectacularly toned abs. Leaning back into his armchair, Sigmund was pulled with him into the dark snowy forest of a faraway planet, staring down at the pale beautiful face of a young brunette. Force. Ben Solo was doing it again. Pulling him into his mind by means of his Force powers. But yes, that girl was rather cute. Also, she looked like she was about to-

Fascinated, he stared at the ecstatic face.

"And then, she just erupted! I mean, she was like a force of nature! Threw me off and drove me back, lightsaber in hand. Those moves, the power, that technique of hers… Whew! She even did Juyo, without being taught. It's in her kriffing soul. That girl's a true warrior, down to the core. Force! I didn't want to hurt her, Sigmund! But after a while, I just found myself fighting for my life. Fuck! She really tried to kill me." He shook his head in shocked admiration.

"Is that how you acquired that cheek wound, Ben? By the way, I think that needs some seeing to. You'd better ask Chrysella for some bacta gel on the way out."

Ben Solo shook his head slowly. A strange smile curled his full lips.

"No. If she's scarred me for life, then so be it. I'm keeping this one, Sigmund. She's mine."

"All right, Ben. I think that just about concludes today's session. Same time next Thursday?"

The young man had flung his long legs off of the divan and risen, buttoning his shirt decisively. Now, he was pulling on his tunic, draping his black utility cloak around his shoulders and snapping the clasp shut.

"Same time next Thursday, Sigmund. I knew I could rely on you. By the way, if some red headed fellow named Hux turns up here, just tell him that you've never heard of me. Bye."

As the door to his office slammed shut behind the tall exiting form, Sigmund rose and leaned back against one of his tall Chandrilan bookcases for support. Force. For the first time in some 30 years, he felt the urgent need for a cigarette. But no. His thumbs were itching, worse than ever.

Yes. Of course. He had to turn Ben Solo into a Case Study. Just in order to make sense of things, to understand what he'd just heard. Leaning back heavily against the bookcase, Sigmund searched the floor for his lost notepad. The kriffing thing was nowhere to be seen. Shaking his head in frustration, he accidentally banged his right elbow against a heavy tome. The book fell out, hitting his big toe painfully. Cursing, he reached down.

 _Greek Tragedies, Vol III. Euripides_

Frowning slightly, he opened the volume.

* * *

As the door to the _Herr Doctor_ 's office slammed back shut, Chrysella Klein's eyes widened significantly. Futilely, she attempted to still her breathing. Underneath the large black ebony desk, her long silk clad legs contorted, twisting around one another. Her large green eyes flashed open, staring in pure adoration at the tall, broad shouldered young man. Reaching up with a long slender, bare pale arm, she checked automatically that her shiny, brunette upswept hairdo was firmly attached. One long silky strand of hair fell casually down over her smooth, pale forehead.

"Don't charge this to the Organa tab. No. Not to the First Order either. I'm paying for this in cash."

The young receptionist trembled slightly. Her large, kohl rimmed eyes focused on those of the tall, black clad young man. Luckily, the _Herr Doctor_ 's 11 o'clock patient hadn't arrived yet. Gazing into the brown eyes, she faltered slightly.

"We… We don't…"

The young man frowned. "Is there a problem here, Chrysella? I'm paying you 80 000 GCS in cash straight up. There. It's right in front of you."

Flinging the money down disdainfully on the receptionist's desk, he pushed his long silky black hair out of his face to stare morosely out into the distance.

The receptionist's beautiful green eyes widened significantly. A sudden shockwave seemed to galvanize her, causing a brief shudder to run though her slender but curvaceous body. Oblivious, Ben Solo stared out at the heavily enforced hologlass exit area. Suddenly decisive, the girl nodded briskly. Taking the cash, she stashed it in a drawer of her desk. Force knew how she'd deal with this problem, but never mind. She'd just have to present it to her employer in some clever way.

"Of course. Thank you very much. Do you want a receipt, Master Ren?"

That earned her a brief look of approval. Momentarily, the brown gaze travelled down her long slender neck, losing itself in the dizzying topography of her cleavage.

 _Yeah. You'd better look at them, you beautiful bastard. That's a 32E bra size, and this very dress I'm wearing cost me 120 000 GCS. That's three months wages, by the way. Just look at what you're doing to me here._

He flicked a black gloved hand at her.

"Ok. I mean, whatever. I need my lightsaber, thank you very much. If you'd care to get it out of that thing."

"Of course, Master Ren."

Rising obediently, she wiggled over to the Cabinet. The skintight, bright red dress hugged her body like a glove. As she leaned forward to unlock the tall, security enforced hologlass case, her small round ass poked out at him suggestively. Her smooth, perfect pale skin had a light, velvety sheen.

"Here you are, Master Ren. Do you want me to help you attach them?"

Once more, young Ben Solo stared distractedly at her exposed cleavage. Then, he reached out for his lightsaber and clipped the weapon to his holster belt.

"No, Chrysella. I'm ok. Thank you. I'll see you next week, ok?"

Reaching for his helmet, he pulled it on decisively. Chrysella Klein nodded briefly, a look of pain shading her face.

"Of course, Master Ren. By the way, don't forget this. Your receipt and our contact info. You never know when you might need it."

Behind the black and silver helmet, the young man stared down at the combination of letters and numbers. A holocam number. Unless it was invisible, there was no receipt info to be seen. You never know when you might need it. Ok.

He pushed the note into an inner pocket of his utility cloak.

"Make sure my booking for next Thursday's there, Chrysella. Thanks."

The hologlass door swung back shut behind his tall exiting form. With a deep sigh, Chrysella Klein sank back into her comfortable office chair. Her heart was beating furiously. From behind the closed doors to the _Herr Doctor_ Freud's office, a triumphant shriek erupted.

" _OEDIPUS!"_


	2. Rey

Monday morning at the offices. After identifying herself by means of pressing her left hand to the metal pentagon set in the solid marble outer wall, Chrysella Klein set about unlocking the massive durasteel doors. Once inside the security reinforced hologlass entry area, she tapped her personal code rhythm on the control panel next to the inner entry door. It swung open smoothly, revealing the familiar sight of the Herr Doctor Freud's waiting room. The majestic receptionist's desk of polished ebony, which looked vaguely like a throne. Matching ebony and leather seats and chairs edging the room; luxuriously padded to lull nervous visitors into relaxation but still straight backed enough to ensure they didn't fall asleep waiting for their appointments. The tall security reinforced hologlass Cabinet over on the left, built to withstand not only armed attacks but also impulsive rushes of Force induced rage. Tasteful antique carpets in muted jewel colours; soft crème coloured walls. Costly but neutral landscape paintings strategically placed to catch the eye. The waiting room of an expensive, renowned, cultured, aging psychoanalyst who specialized in taking on highly dangerous and troubled creatures, along with the usual mixture of wealthy neurotics and interesting charity cases.

As usual, her desk was neat and spotless. Chrysella always made sure to tidy it up thoroughly and finish all her notes and administrative duties before setting off for home for the weekend. What she did in her spare time was nobody's business. But when she returned on Monday morning, she wanted to be in control. Someone had to be. The Herr Doctor was brilliant but distracted, absentminded and continuously harrowed by the demands and daily post it notes from his wife. And the patients… Ah, each week they would reveal new levels of chaos to which the human mind and actions might descend. Doctor Freud might have to listen to their stories, but Chrysella was the one that actually had to deal with their real life behaviour. Hence, the need for planning and control.

With a sigh, she sat down in her comfortable hi tech durasteel and leather office chair. Initially, her antique collector boss had wanted to place her in a straight backed, ancient ebony chair with graceful spindly carvings and a small flat brocade seat. She'd put her foot down firmly on that one.

"But Chrysella! That chair used to belong to the Queens of Naboo. They used to preside in it when holding court!"

"Well, Herr Doctor, I'm not a Queen receiving my petitioners surrounded by a swarm of handmaidens. I'm a contemporary professional woman attempting to do my job as efficiently as possible. If you think the chair is pretty, put it in the waiting room for the patients to sit in. I'm sure some of them could imagine nothing better than being ancient Queens. I just want to be able to do my job as efficiently as possible. I need _this_ very chair. Right here."

She'd flipped the catalogue open and pointed at the desired model. Seeing the determined gleam in her green eyes, of course the Doctor had acceded. For once, a woman had stated explicitly what she wanted, no, _demanded_ , of him. That chair, though hideously ugly in its gleaming hi tech functionality, would have to be incorporated into his waiting room, in spite of clashing blatantly with the refined air he'd attempted to convey to the interior designer. As soon as he'd agreed, he'd lost the battle. A matching hi tech clock panel telling the time not just on Coruscant but at 100 strategically chosen other places of Galactic importance had been installed in the wall opposite Chrysella's desk. The installation of a computer console with several datapads and screens of the latest model had defiled the antique ebony piece of furniture. Sigmund had attempted to draw the line at installing a holocam transmission unit, and of course failed miserably. In fact, Chrysella Klein was indeed the uncrowned queen of the reception area.

Well, in her own opinion she was more than worth it. Chrysella Klein hid more specific talents up her perfectly tailored, grey suit sleeves than your average 22-year old receptionist. Of course, that's how she'd managed to gain the position in the first place, besting competitors with more than 30 years experience and top-notch references.

Tapping the controls, she made the datascreens rise up from the console and flicker into life. Today's patients. Let's see.

On the opposite wall, the time panel flashed out Coruscant time: 8.05.

Chrysella always entered Doctor Freud's offices at 8.00 on the dot. That gave her ample time to prepare herself for the day's work. The Herr Doctor himself would usually appear around 8.30. She checked today's schedule on the datascreen. Late Friday afternoon, she'd taken a message on the holocam receiver from a young woman requesting an appointment. Her name had been scrambled, incomplete. No surname. Usually, Doctor Freud required a full name from any patient who wished to book an appointment. However, sometimes the need to be flexible arose. Like with Ben Solo, who was currently passing under the alias of Kylo Ren.

Force. A sudden twinge of sensations caused the young receptionist to cross her long legs involuntarily beneath her desk. But no. The week had only just begun. On Mondays she couldn't afford herself to release control and unravel into private fantasies and desires. Usually, she managed to stave that off at least until Wednesday afternoon. Or lunchtime, which she'd spend perusing expensive Coruscant stores for low cut dresses, slinky stockings, high heeled shoes and makeup or perfume. Until then, Ben. Or Kylo. _Then_ , I'll think about you.

Blowing her favourite Freud patient a farewell kiss in her mind, she focused on the schedule. Yes. She'd booked the young woman who'd refused to state her surname for the Herr Doctor's first Monday session. Partially because the usual Monday 9 o'clock patient, Zyrian Crax, had called in a late cancellation and her job was to fill any empty spaces in Doctor Freud's schedule. Partially because-

…well, she just _sensed_ these things. Chrysella recognized the interesting patients, the ones with a special kind of urgency. She knew them, and it was her job to sniff them out and prioritize them. Yes. She'd done the right thing in granting the young woman an immediate booking, in spite of some 200 people queuing for the famed Doctor Freud's ears and time. Nodding decisively, she set about preparing the formal paperwork necessary for registering a new patient.

"Is… Is this Doctor Freud's office? Have I come to the right place?"

The young woman's deep brown eyes were darting around the waiting room, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. Above her brunette head, the digital time panel spelled out the time in 101 Galactic locations.

Behind the desk, Chrysella Klein nodded calmly. She was pleased to note that the young woman had arrived at 8.45 as instructed, which would leave enough time for filling out the necessary forms.

"Your name is…?"

"Rey. I called you on the holocam this Friday."

The young woman was clenching and unclenching her hands somewhat nervously. Slender but strong looking. Noting the weapons, Chrysella calculated swiftly. The lightsaber was of course standard equipment for Force sensitive patients, and the handle would fit easily enough into the one of the reinforced compartments of the security Cabinet. But the bostaff? At least 190 centimetres long, as far as Chrysella's trained eye could tell. Ok, so unless it was retractable, it would have to go into the spear compartment at the back. But not yet. Asking the patients to relinquish their weapons had to be the last step in the procedure, after some kind of basic trust and formal agreement had been established.

Nodding in acknowledgement, she indicated the comfortable armchair that she'd placed on the opposite side of the desk.

"Yes. I'm the one who took your call. Welcome. I'm Chrysella Klein, Doctor Freud's receptionist. Please be seated, and we'll go through the formalities. Now, in order to register you as a patient of Doctor Freud's, you have to fill in this mandatory form. I gather that you agree to this?"

 _Force, this one's on edge. Of course, she doesn't know what to expect. They're usually_ _all_ _kriffing jumpy the first time around._

The young woman sat down warily. Unhooking her carved bostaff from one shoulder, she leaned it against the right side of the chair.

"Ok. I'm ready. I might not be able to answer all your questions, though."

A deep clear voice that carried. Unconscious authority; a strong contralto timbre. An unexpectedly refined High Basic accent. Yes, Doctor Freud would be intrigued with this one for sure.

Chrysella Klein flashed her a professionally reassuring smile. "Thank you. Now Rey, I understand that at this point, you do not wish to state your surname, but would prefer to be known by your given name. Is that correct?"

"Yes." The intensity of the deep brown eyes impacted in Chrysella's mind. Adjusting her mental shielding skilfully, she nodded.

"Ok. Your name is Rey. If you wish to alter or add something to this information, you may of course do so in the future. Now, I'll tick this box here for 'Force sensitive'. It's a mandatory procedure."

A heated spark from the brown eyes.

"I never said I was a Force sensitive!" She'd half risen from the chair.

Chrysella made her sit down with a practised little gesture.

"Please. I am aware of that. However, Doctor Freud's been taking on Force sensitive patients for twenty years. He is the only psychoanalyst on Coruscant, indeed in the whole Galaxy, who does so. We are experienced enough to tell Force sensitives from non Force sensitives. There's no need to worry. This is just a regular formal procedure."

The young woman was studying her with a frown, as if searching for something. A beautiful young face, with strong clear-cut features. A high round forehead, high cheekbones, sharp sculpted jawbone, a strong chin and a straight nose. Dark eyebrows, brunette hair pulled back into a peculiar hairstyle with three vertical buns down the back of her head. A determined expression that prevented her softly curving lips from smiling. Pale skin marked by freckles that betrayed some past exposure to the sun. Around 170 centimetres tall, slender but deceptively athletic. The manner of her dress caught the young receptionist's interest. A sleeveless shirt wrapped tightly around her slim form, grey calf length trousers. Brown leather boots and a criss crossing brown leather belt that cinched her tiny waist. A form fitting sleeveless grey wool vest and long, fingerless grey gloves in a matching shade. The design of the gloves and vest actually had Chrysella raising her eyebrows. Bare shoulders, sleeveless top, somewhat provocatively offset by the long gloves. Flashes of bare skin, the feminine shape of her figure discreetly but still blaringly revealed. Ah. Doctor Freud would find this one intriguing.

"Let's continue. Age?"

"19."

"Place of birth?"

A sharp intake of breath. "I… I can't tell you that."

Silence.

"I… I was born on a starship, ok? Both my parents were pilots."

 _And maybe something else as well. Well, that's up to the Herr Doctor to discover._

Releasing her surreptitious focus on the young woman's mind, Chrysella Klein ticked a box in the registry form.

"Ok, so I'm marking 'transient' on that one. Current residence?"

A wary dark stare. "Ahch-To. Part time. D'Qar, also part time. Look, this is confidential information, right?"

The mandatory question. How many times had she answered it by now? Directing solid reassurance at the young woman, so close to herself in age, Chrysella Klein nodded.

"Of course. Doctor Freud's entire enterprise and professional reputation relies on his discretion. You needn't worry. We will not disclose your whereabouts or personal information to anyone. Rest assured."

The green eyes were sincere. Also, there was a certain level of calming… _influence_ issuing forth from them. Momentarily, the young armed woman frowned. Then, she nodded.

"I believe you. Thanks. It's just that I'm not used to… Well, to other people looking out for my interests."

Ok, so she'd managed to gain the girl's trust. Now, she had to make sure she didn't start to blurt out confidences before entering the Herr Doctor's office. Which was tricky, considering the next question of the form.

"Reason for contact? Please keep it short, you may elaborate it later with the Doctor."

The young woman drew a sharp breath. Her brown eyes flashed.

"Anger issues. At least, my Master thinks so. That's why he referred me here."

Ok, that was a common one. Chrysella Klein was briefly reminded of Ben Solo's registry form, which stated 'identity crisis' and 'internal conflict' as major reasons for contact. Life as a Force sensitive in training was certainly no bed of roses. Shaking her head internally, the young receptionist congratulated herself on having cleverly avoided that particular kind of career choice.

"Mode of pay? I'm sorry, but we keep a cash free office here. Security reasons."

The young woman flushed in some embarrassment. "General Leia Organa is paying. She said to tell you to charge it to her tab."

Chrysella nodded in professional recognition. "Of course. The Organa tab." One of Doctor Freud's most reliable cash cows.

Stamping the registry form with Doctor Freud's business seal, she added her signature and today's date in ink. Then, she pulled out one of the desk drawers and stashed the document in a large plasticite file dated with the current year. Shutting the desk briskly, she rose and approached the young woman, adjusting her neat, perfectly tailored light grey business suit. With her brunette tresses coiled into a chignon at the nape of her neck and discreetly made up face, she projected a perfectly professional and impersonal front. Indeed, grim experience had taught her the necessity of that when performing this somewhat delicate task.

"Thank you. Doctor Freud will see you soon. However, I must inform you that he doesn't allow weapons in his actual office. Standard safety procedures. I'm sure you understand.

Frowning, the young woman rose, clutching automatically at her bostaff.

"I… I don't understand. Master Luke has told me never to relinquish hold of my lightsaber under any circumstances."

A professional smile.

"Ah. I'm sure that's excellent advice while travelling in deep space and scouring the Galaxy on different assignments. However, psychoanalysis isn't like anything you've ever experienced before. It might cause involuntary emotional and physical reactions that even as a Force sensitive, you could find hard to control. We just need to ensure our personal safety, as well as yours. So, if you'd care to come with me, we'll place your weapons in this reinforced hologlass security Cabinet for the duration of the session. Afterwards, I'll check them out for you.

Preceding the young woman, she stepped briskly up to the shiny glass and durasteel construction to unlock a tall compartment at the back. The young woman approached, staring.

"But… But what if we're suddenly attacked? I've had that happen before, you know! Several times! I need my weapons at the ready!"

Chrysella gestured reassuringly. "I'm sure you have. However, we are currently in the middle of the Central City District of Coruscant, and this building is outfitted with surveillance cameras absolutely everywhere. Not to mention the security staff at ground level, who are very definitely armed and routinely check the identity of everyone who enters here. Yes, I'm sure you saw them. Also, the reception area is outfitted with more surveillance cameras. I operate the entrance doors to the office from my desk. No one's allowed to pass who isn't on the list of today's patients. Don't worry. You'll be safe."

Possibly, it wasn't so much the words themselves as the strange atmosphere that she projected which provided the most effective mode of persuasion. Nodding, staring into the green eyes, the young woman, handed her the bostaff. As Chrysella placed it carefully in the tall back compartment of the Cabinet, the intense brown stare followed her every movement. Stepping over in front, the receptionist opened another, smaller compartment. One of the Lightsaber Boxes, as she liked to call them. Usually, this was the one where Ben Solo would place his weapon.

"Your lightsaber, please."

With a sigh, the young woman complied. Chrysella reflected briefly that she had no idea whatsoever what colour this particular laserblade was. Something unfathomable in the young woman's eyes told her that it might be red. Then again, if her Master had complained about her anger issues, she probably wasn't a darksider. Maybe someone who actually ought to be just that. Another case of identity issues, just like Ben Solo, masquerading as anger. Oh well. Red or blue or green or kriffing rainbow striped. In it goes. She shut the compartment door efficiently with an automated little locking click.

In Sigmund Freud's office, the voice of his receptionist erupted through the intercom.

"Herr Doctor, your 9 o'clock is here. New patient. Her name is Rey."

"Send her in, Chrysella."

* * *

Well, Monday morning means the start of a new week. Fresh impressions, new insights.

Ever since finishing the case study of Ben Solo, Sigmund had been feeling vaguely restless. After the Holiday season, he'd been unable to formulate any coherent theories on female desire. Also, frustratingly, Ben Solo had cancelled his last two appointments. The first out of sick leave reasons, stating on the holocam that he'd decided to go into bacta and get proper medical attention to his cheek wound anyway. The second time, he'd called Sigmund to state that the Supreme Leader had ordered him to enter a special training regimen that would exclude any contact with the outside world for an extended period of time. However, he'd also ensured Sigmund that he would return after his training period, and urged his psychoanalyst not to terminate his treatment. Even through the crackling static of the holocam, Sigmund had been able to discern the desperation in the young man's voice. Indeed, it wasn't the first time that Ben Solo caused him entirely unprofessional pangs of pain and worry. But never mind. Even if Ben turned up under a third alias to resume his psychoanalysis, Sigmund would be there. There was always room on the divan.

The door opened decisively but soundlessly. A young woman was standing in the doorway. At first, Sigmund interpreted this as some kind of indecision about whether to enter or not. Then, he noted that she was scanning the room with keen deep brown eyes, registering everything before taking the final step. Before he'd had time to invite her in, she stepped over the threshold, closed the door and approached him boldly.

The first thing that struck him was her strength. Then, the sheer seething sensations of feelings and emotions burning in her eyes.

 _Oh Force._ A trauma survivor. Or maybe a prospective killer. Possibly both. A warrior, no doubt. Stopping a meter in front of him, she inclined her head a fraction.

"Doctor Freud. General Organa recommended that I see you. She told me that the two of you are old acquaintances."

Her voice was unexpectedly deep and musical. A clear contralto with a resonance. Also, the accent was High Basic, contrasting ludicrously with her functional but deceptively feminine mode of dress. So many layers to this one, his head started to spin. But most importantly, _a female_.

Force. This one would undoubtedly make him pose ten questions for every single one she answered. Intrigued, he rose and reached out to shake her hand with a slight bow. It came out somewhat deeper than he'd planned.

"Welcome to my practice, Rey. The General is indeed an old… friend of mine. We still keep in regular contact. I'd like to hear more about your connection with her, but first I'd like to ask you to lie down on the divan. It's a simple procedure, that will help you relax and facilitate my concentration."

Her handshake was firm, her slender hand deceptively strong. He could feel the warmth radiating from it into his. Her brown eyes searched his own, similarly coloured, briefly. Then, she nodded and settled on the ancient velvet and ebony piece of furniture, staring up into the ceiling.

It would have been a gross exaggeration to say that her posture was relaxed. Ramrod straight, she stared upwards at unknown vistas, crossing her long legs at the ankles. Still, her breath was regular and even.

"I'm with the Resistance. That's how I know the General. I mean, I didn't meet her until a couple of months ago. But my parents were affiliated with the Resistance Forces. So am I, by birth."

For some reason, he felt the need to reassure her.

"Before we set out, I want you to know that in my practice, I'm completely disconnected from any political and ideological faction, or any system of belief. In my line of work, one has to be objective. I believe this is the main reason why General Organa trusts me."

A light tremble passed through her.

"I'm a Force sensitive. I only found out a couple of months ago what that implies. Your receptionist recognized it immediately. Force, it's almost as if she-

"Chrysella's an invaluable asset as a co-worker. She's really so much more than a receptionist. A large number of my patients are Force sensitives like yourself. I'm familiar with the peculiar difficulties of the condition. You may consider yourself in safe hands, both with Chrysella and myself."

A deep sigh. "All right. Anyway, I'm not here because General Organa thinks I have a problem. Her brother told her. Luke Skywalker. He's my Jedi Master."

Ah. His interest was firmly piqued.

"You are a… Padawan?"

A slight hesitation.

"I… I'm not sure. I mean, the General sent me with a message to her brother once she managed to locate him. She sent me, because I'm a Force sensitive and had retrieved his old lightsaber. However, once I got to the remote island where he'd been hiding out for the last ten years or so, he refused to leave and accompany us to D'Qar. I mean, he didn't state anything explicitly. He just kept stalling, asking me to do him this and that little favour. He kept implying that once I succeeded with the tasks, he would return with us."

"Us?"

"Sorry. That's me and Chewie, a Wookiee pilot who accompanied me there and who knows Luke since way back. They were both friends of-

Her throat constricted slightly. In his seat, Sigmund frowned. A wookiee named Chewie or something similar? The name echoed in his mind, calling for an ancient memory. So many voices. So many words. Force, so many years spent listening intently. And, let's face it, occasionally dozing off.

The young woman broke off hastily, changing track.

"So, he told me to keep the lightsaber. He told me that it wasn't his, that it had belonged to his father. It was blue, the kind used by the Jedi warriors. You know, the ones trained to do armed combat. The one he built himself is green, the colour of a thinker and negotiator."

"He judged you to be more of a warrior type?"

"Yes. He told me he sensed that was my path. Well, I don't disagree. That weapon calls something out of me that I've attempted to shut down. A certain mode of being. Suddenly, I'm faster, sharper, stronger. When I hold it, it's like I'm connected to a live wire of pure Force. It's me. It's everywhere. It's pulsing in me. I feel it in my blood."

 _Force!_ He'd never heard a woman express sentiments like these before. He'd never even realized that they were capable of this odd… _hunger?_

The intensity and arousal of her voice was unmistakeable.

"I love using it. I love to fight, to learn the moves, to explore all the things that I can do to my opponent. It's just…"

Frustration. Longing.

 _She misses something. Someone?_

Still staring up into the ceiling, the young woman banged her fist into the left wall in frustration.

"But Master Luke's a lousy sparring partner! Every time I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough, when I sense that I'm really developing and learning something new, he calls a halt! He keeps telling me I'm breaking into Juyo, whatever that is. He keeps telling me my mode of fighting's wrong, that my temper is calling me to the Dark Side. I just don't understand! I mean, what kriffing side? There's the Force, and that's it! Period!"

She smashed her fist emphatically into the left wall for impact. Her strong young voice was a roar, the sound that battle cries are made of.

In his armchair Sigmund stared down at her, wide eyed.

 _Oh Force. This one could give Ben Solo a run for his money._

"All right, Rey. Let's see if I've understood this correctly. You were somehow informally assigned to a Jedi Master, but you're frustrated with his principles and training methods. You feel that your Force talents and abilities demand a different kind of outlet."

She nodded, long dark lashes shading her cheeks. Suddenly, a wave of immeasurable sadness flooded Sigmund's mind.

"I… I mean, I felt it. Once. I… I almost killed him. I mean, he totally deserved it. I would have, if a kriffing chasm hadn't ripped the ground apart between us. I… I was ready to make the leap. But then I came to my senses. Force, I had to save Finn."

Utter confusion threatened to drown him. Struggling to catch the disconnected jigsaw puzzle pieces in his mind, Sigmund raised his hand to call a halt. Of course, it wasn't unusual for new patients to suddenly shoot out disconnected pieces of highly emotionally charged information.

"Please Rey, wait. You're loosing me here. Who's _he_? Clearly, you're not talking about your Jedi Master. Why did you want to kill him? And who's Finn?"

She was breathing quickly, almost panting as if running. Twisting restlessly on the divan, her slender body was spasming uncontrollably.

"It's… It's _him_! Oh, Master Luke would never, ever understand! How could I stand the shame of telling General Organa, after all she's done for me? Oh no! I mean I…"

She was striving to control her breathing, fighting to ride the turmoil of emotions shooting up from where she'd evidently striven to suppress it. Gaining control over her voice instead of hurtling into full-blown hysterics, she proved her strength of character to Sigmund.

"A young man. Strong in the Force. A Force sensitive, like me. He's with the First Order. I saw him kill someone I'd only just met, but who mattered a great deal to me. My friend Finn and I tried to escape, but he pursued us. He hurt my friend. I made the lightsaber rise up into my hand and do my will. He didn't try to kill me. It was all my doing. I just sensed this kriffing flow of _fire_ enveloping me! I just couldn't stop! Oh Force, I've never felt so alive! I mean, that was me! Me, Rey, the genie let out of the bottle! For the first time in my life, I felt awake! I wasn't asleep anymore! And Force, he's the one who set it all in motion! I need him here, here right now, so that I can…"

Sigmund frowned. "…kill him?"

She shook her head wildly. The brunette coils of hair were coming undone, spilling tangled tresses everywhere.

"Yes! No! I mean, Master Luke says slaying a wounded enemy will make me fall into the Dark Side irrevocably! But I don't know what else to do with him! He haunts me in my dreams, he…"

"You kill him in your dreams?"

"NO!" She was almost sobbing with exasperation. Her cheeks were red with something suspiciously like shame.

Ok, so this was something of his field of expertise.

"What happens in your dreams, Rey?"

Her voice was soft, almost inaudible.

"He ties me up or locks me down in shackles somewhere. A private place, where no one can reach us and I cannot run away. He cuts or tears my clothes away. Sometimes I'm naked from the start. He whispers in my ear. I know that out of all people alive, he can see me. He's the only one who knows me. He's the One. I see him, too. We struggle, but it's really just a way to show each other who we truly are. Oh Force, I'm such a pathetic fool! To be drooling over a kriffing murderer like that! Yes, ok. So I'm officially crazy. I'll admit it."

The old psychoanalyst's voice was gentle. Of course, he sensed that the young woman's dreams and fantasies involved something even more wild and climactic. However, at the moment it was wisest to abstain from pressuring her on that point. Also, he had to show her that he wasn't some kind of extension of her Jedi Master.

"You're not crazy, Rey. You've given me a very lucid and comprehensible description of a passionate attraction for a young man with abilities similar to those of your own. Encountering him must have been quite an intense experience for you, particularly as you say that it awakened your own Force powers. I have full understanding that this encounter haunts you. There is nothing wrong or crazy about it. Rest assured."

He was surprised to realize that he'd been somewhat more outspoken and actively verbal than usual. For some reason, the young woman appeared to be resonating in him.

Twisting on the divan, she aimed her deep brown gaze at him. The look was incredulous, warm, full of gratitude.

"You… You actually understand? Force! I didn't think that anybody… I mean, if I told any of my friends, they'd be sure to condemn and shun me…"

With a gentle gesture, he indicated that she should resume her original position.

"I will neither condemn nor shun you, Rey. The sentiments that you express are very logical and comprehensible. I do not deal in moral correction. What this is all about is helping you retrieve yourself, understand what you really want and who you truly are. Of course, in the course of time all these might change and develop."

A sudden light seemed to have gone on inside her. A miraculous transformation, like suddenly discovering a forgotten piece of diamond jewellery that had hidden all these years inside the ancient divan.

"Yes. Yes. I know it! But I mean, I'm so torn apart with it! At night, I dream of meeting him straight on, of kissing him and tearing his clothes off right at the moment when he thinks I'll kill him. Either that, or him just… touching me, and… I mean, sorry… fucking me while he's got me tied up. But that-

…but that's not the worst part. I mean, every night at Ahch-To, before going to sleep and right at the moment of awakening, I'd try to locate his presence by means of the Force and pull him to me. Once we finally relocated to D'Qar, after the General had managed to persuade her brother to return there for a visit, I checked the observations on the First Order movements very carefully each day. I needed to know where he was. So ok, I admit it. I was toying with the thought of taking one of the craft and setting out there. In case you're wondering, I've got the piloting skills to do it."

A slight warning note in her deep voice.

"I don't doubt that, Rey. I've no prejudice against female pilots. Indeed, I have the utmost admiration for anyone with genuine piloting skills. Myself, I can barely manoeuvre a speeder without crashing into some building. I'll leave the piloting to experts such as yourself."

Her tense body relaxed slightly. There was even a little laugh.

"Yeah, I mean I had to kriffing learn, didn't I? My parents left me at age 5 on the desert planet of Jakku to fend for myself. They told me that no matter what, they'd be back for me as soon as they'd finished their mission. They never returned."

Sigmund's eyes widened in horror. "You mean they died?"

Silence. Dead stillness, corpselike.

"I assume so. An old space pirate on Takodana told me they'd never return. _He_ told me the same thing, after he looked into my mind. Before this happened, I never reflected on it. I just trusted that they'd keep their word. But lately…" Her voice broke.

Silence. Struggling to conquer her emotions.

"Lately I've come to the realization that they just can't be alive anymore. I mean, Master Luke tasked me with all these mental exercises and meditation. I spent most of the time searching the Galaxy for them They're just not there. They abandoned me here."

Sigmund and the girl were in a graveyard, underneath the earth together.

"You wish they'd brought you with them. You wish that you had died with them." Deep shivers travelled up his spine.

"Yes. Sometimes."

Silence.

"But maybe less frequently. I mean, things have changed. It's like I just don't think about them that much anymore. Not like I used to. Maybe it was all some kind of barrier, locking me inside another, limited mode of being. Or maybe I'm just a selfish, lousy person."

The old psychoanalyst frowned. "You've been through some terrible things, Rey. Things no child should be forced to suffer. Yet, you've survived. You have resources stronger than most sentient beings. You're not a lousy person. You just need to allow yourself to live."

A minute flick of her right hand over her eyes. No telling if she was just shading her eyes momentarily or actually wiping something out of them. Anyway, she didn't strike him as the crying kind. When she spoke, her voice was steady, resolved.

"Master Luke wants me to return to Ahch-To with him to finish my training. I've told him that I cannot. I'm too conflicted. I don't know what I want. I need to stay here, or on the D'Qar base, to explore my feelings and help the General as best I can. I don't think I'm ready to become a Jedi. I mean, I know what that entails. Emotional detachment. Lifelong solitude. No emotional attachments. Compassion, but no passion. I don't think I'm cut out for that. I just don't know how to tell them. They all have so much hope and faith in me. I really don't know how this happened."

Sigmund nodded. "I find that to be a perfectly comprehensible position. Rey, if you'd agree to engage in a long-term contract treatment here, you may refer to that if people try to pressurise you. In psychoanalysis, one recommends making no life altering decisions while in treatment. Of course, most of my patients choose to ignore that and do as they please anyway. However, it's still a good guideline. If nothing else, if you want something badly enough to cross that line, you'll know it's true."

She nodded, her face suddenly calm. "Yes. I believe you're right. Can I return here once a week to see you?"

Sigmund nodded. "Of course you can. I'm looking forward to seeing you next week."

The young woman swung her long slender legs over the edge of the divan to rise. Stalking over to Sigmund, she took his hand in her firm warm grasp and shook it. A newfound resolution burned in the deep brown eyes.

"Thank you, Doctor Freud. I will return."


	3. Finn

Some people have the knack for psychoanalysis. It's an odd adage, but it's true. Some know how to do it, and some don't.

And some just quit prematurely, when the treatment's barely started.

Sigmund squinted down at the list of today's patients.

"Laura Diershmied's cancelled her 9 o'clock appointment? And not only this one, but all future ones as well?"

Raising his eyes only to have them careening headlong down the Thursday décolletage of his receptionist, he strove to find his bearings.

"Yes, Herr Doctor." Chrysella Klein straightened and crossed her slender arms beneath her bosom. This Thursday's outfit was a tight sleeveless black number with some kind of deceptive deep red shimmer.

"She called last night, just as I was about to lock up and leave. She told me to cancel all future appointments, since she's filed for a divorce and is moving to Scipio. She sounded quite excited. I got the impression that she was accompanying someone there."

Another lover, no doubt. Maybe even a future husband.

Sigmund's mind briefly sketched an image of the lady's perfectly rounded backside as she wiggled tightly out of his office. Forever.

 _Auf Wiedersehen, Frau Dierschmied._

He pulled himself together to stare down at the printout sheet.

"9.00. FN-2187. What's this, Chrysella? Some kind of data code? A secret identity patient?"

Chrysella Klein sighed wearily. In some matters, the brilliant Doctor Freud really was remarkably obtuse.

"No, Herr Doctor. That's a Stormtrooper ID number."

Sigmund's brown eyes sharpened. "What? A Stormtrooper ID? Since when does the First Order send their footsoldiers for psychanalysis? Is this some kind of new reconditioning treatment? If so, I'm absolutely not participating! Who's paying for this?"

Chrysella's smooth oval face didn't twitch a muscle. "General Organa's paying. The man's a defected Stormtrooper who's joined the Resistance. The General called me herself last night and urged me to get him a quick appointment. Apparently he was badly wounded in battle and is suffering from PTSD. She fears that unless he's treated, he might become a liability. So, I told her that we had a cancellation and that he might have his first appointment here today at 9.00."

"Oh." Sigmund nodded absentmindedly. "Well, in that case I suppose you'd better return to the reception to greet him and take care of the registration. He sounds like the kind who could use… _special care_."

"Of course." She nodded. A high risk case. One of her main duties was to deal with that category.

Still, she lingered, tapping her full lips pensively with a long red nailed index finger.

"Yes?"

She reached out to tap the datasheet.

"What… What about Ben Solo, Doctor Freud? He's missed out on his last three appointments. Has… has something happened to him?" There was an odd twist to her voice.

Sigmund sighed. "No, no, Chrysella. Nothing's happened to him. At least to my knowledge. Last time he was here, he had a fresh laserburn injury across the right side of his face, remember? Well, he sent me a message that he was going into bacta to have it properly treated. After that, he would be commencing a new training regimen under the Supreme Leader's supervision. He was quite adamant that I not cancel his sessions. He assured me that he'd resume his psychoanalysis as soon as possible. I have no reason to doubt his word."

The receptionist's large green eyes widened significantly. They lit up brightly, blinding Sigmund momentarily. She nodded briskly and shot him a brief professional smile.

"That's great news, Doctor Freud! I… I mean, after Frau Diershmied's elopement, we don't want to lose any more patients, do we?"

He raised a bushy eyebrow to stare at her, perplexed. Something about the contrast between her body language and her words caught his attention.

"Ah… Yes, Chrysella. Of course. You're right."

The massive mahogany office door swung shut behind her exiting form. Sigmund sighed and moved over from the antique desk to the armchair by the head side of the divan.

A former Stormtrooper? How in the Force's name had somebody like that heard about psychoanalysis? Did this man even know what he was in for?

He guessed that he would find out soon enough.

* * *

8.50. 8.55. 9.00.

 _Click. Click. Click._

Chrysella Klein was tapping her fingers impatiently next to the computer console. Across the room the 101th clock, the one showing local Coruscant time, clicked and flickered.

9.05. 9.06.

 _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Someone was banging the durasteel security doors of the main entrance, captured in fine detail by the security cameras. A male figure, hammering away with some urgency.

The new patient? Ok, for a PTSD case that kind of behaviour wasn't unheard of. Leaning forward, she pressed the controls that activated the outer intercom.

"Hello? This is Doctor Freud's office. Kindly state your name and errand."

The male visitor breathed heavily into the intercom. "It's… It's Finn. I've come to see Doctor Freud."

The intercom turned her bright crisp voice metallic. "Would that be FN-2187 aka Finn, appointment arranged by General Organa? I believe you were instructed to be here at 8.45 for registration. Due to security reasons and in order to facilitate administration, all first time patients are instructed to arrive here fifteen minutes before their actual appointment."

He was looking around himself erratically, as if expecting someone to appear out of thin air behind him.

"Yes… Yes! I'm sorry I'm late. Look, may I come in? I mean, there are First Order spies everywhere here on Coruscant! That's why it took me so long to get here. I had to make sure…"

The metallic voice interrupted him briskly. "I'll open the security doors."

As the first set of doors swung open to allow the visitor free entrance into the hologlass security area, Chrysella examined him closely. A stocky dark skinned male in the kind of nondescript drab clothing favoured by Resistance members, except for those flashy pilots of course. Black shirt, black trousers, combat boots, a worn and battered taupe leather jacket. Also, he was wiping his forehead and staring desperately around him, apparently trying to take in all aspects of this unknown environment.

Damn PTSD cases. Dangerous as fuck, likely to jump into conclusions and consider anyone and anything a threat. She needed to disarm him and lock his weapons into the Cabinet straight away.

As the set of hologlass doors opened, the dark skinned male entered slowly, guardedly. Once he spotted her behind the huge ebony desk, he stopped to stare. Chrysella crossed her arms across her cleavage and fixed him with a level green gaze.

"Welcome. I'm Doctor Freud's receptionist, Chrysella Klein. Kindly have a seat. Yes, right here across the desk. We need to fill in some forms. It won't take a moment. But first, allow me to…"

She rose to move over and unlock the tall hologlass cabinet, giving him sufficiently wide berth. It wouldn't do to make him feel threatened. She unlocked one of the medium sized cabinets and gestured at it.

"Your weapons, please. Standard procedure. Doctor Freud doesn't allow weapons in his office."

The man was staring at her like a trapped animal. Sweating profusely, he mopped futilely at his brow. His look was one of sheer panic.

"No! You can't take my blasters! I need them! What if some madman barges in here and attacks us with a lightsaber? Or what if the First Order stages an attack? We won't stand a chance against a company of Stormtroopers!"

She smiled wryly, arms akimbo. "Speak for yourself. My job is to protect Doctor Freud's safety. I know how to take care of this office and everyone in it. Now, kindly unclasp your holster belt and place it in this cabinet compartment. You'll have it back as soon as the session's finished."

Her long bare arm shot out. The slender fingers twirled a figure eight pattern in front of the man's face. His eyes followed the movement involuntarily. With a dazed look on his face, he unclasped his holster belt obediently and handed it to her. After placing the blasters in the hologlass compartment, Chrysella turned to shoo him briskly towards a heavy carved door leading to an inner office.

"There you go! I'll just announce you through the intercom. Don't bother about the registry form. I'll fill it out with the information that General Organa gave me."

A quick flick of a button. "Herr Doctor! Your 9 o'clock is here. FN-2187, a k a Finn."

A male voice through the intercom. "Send him in, Chrysella!"

Wiping his brow, the former Stormtrooper opened the door and stumbled in over the threshold. Chrysella Klein raised her eyebrows briefly at the sight of the huge darn at the back of his leather jacket. Then, she shrugged and settled down to fill in the registry form.

Name: F-218 Finn

Force sensitive: No

Age: Unknown. Biological age early twenties

Place of birth: Unknown

Current residence: D'Qar

Reason for contact: PTSD

Mode of pay: Organa tab

Other: Former Stormtrooper

She stashed the signed and stamped document sheet efficiently in a large plasticite folder in her desk. The rest would be Doctor Freud's problem.

* * *

 _Damn._

Sigmund rubbed the right side of his jaw. Over the past months, the movement had become a habit. Staring into the dark jewel coloured carpet, he memorized the bright multicoloured patterns echoing his pain.

 _No. I don't want to die. Not now, when I'm on the verge of a true breakthrough in my work! A scientific discovery on a Galactic level! The definition of the intrinsic drive of all sentient living beings, particularly defined by those of the Force sensitive being! The-_

"Sir?"

Embarrassed, Sigmund realized that the brief attack of pain had led him to the one crucial, unforgivable mistake for one in his profession: a lapse of attention.

A young dark skinned male had entered his workroom. Pausing respectfully at a passable distance, he was waiting, head slightly bowed. As if addressing a superior.

 _Of course! Transference already!_

Ignoring his bodily woes, Sigmund focused instantly, opening himself up to all impressions and shooting out a bright mental beam of attention.

Stocky, somewhat chubby. Sweat pearling on his brow, dripping down into his lowered eyes. Twitching eyelids. Fists clenching and unclenching.

All right. Now that was an amber alert sign.

Extending his arm in an inviting gesture, the old psychoanalyst gestured at his new patient. His voice was warm and friendly.

"Welcome! I'm Dr Freud. General Organa's an old friend of mine. I believe she sent you here as part of your entry plan into the Resistance?"

The young man raised his brown eyes. "You're part of the Resistance, Dr Freud?"

Sigmund shook his head sadly. "No. I count myself as a neutral in this ancient feud of light and darkness. My role is to focus on other aspects. Such as matters of the heart and mind. Please, won't you be seated…"

He wracked his brain momentarily " …Finn?

 _Oh no. It won't do to attempt to make this one lie down on the divan._

With a kind gesture, he indicated the comfortable leather armchair casually placed between two ancient dark wood bookcases.

"Th… Thank you, Sir." Eyeing him warily, the young man stumbled back to fall into the warm soothing embrace of the armchair. Still, his stocky body remained rigid, testifying to an inner tension threatening to break out at any moment.

Sigmund lowered his eyes to focus on the carpet.

"Now Finn, why don't we start at the beginning? You know, your birth, your childhood, all the background details? You don't need to expound on any of these unless you feel the need to do so. Just give me a brief outline in order to prevent me from getting lost. Then we can hit the crucial issue."

Oh, so many professional little baits hidden in that one simple prompt. Showing his new patient that whatever he chose to disclose, Sigmund would view it as a gift of trust. Stating that whatever he would hear, there would be no judgement, just support. The positioning of himself as a safe point, a potential parent to the lost young lad. The offering of guidance, yet relinquishing control. The suggestion that they were both in this together. Which of course they were.

The young man wiped his brow repeatedly.

"I… My name's not really Finn. It's F-2187. I'm a Stormtrooper.

Sigmund's dark eyes bored into his mind. "You mean you were a Stormtrooper, I assume? Or are you on an undercover mission, infiltrating the Resistance?"

"N…No! No, Sir! I mean, that's none of your business! I… I…"

Patient, Sigmund waited.

"I… I was brought up and trained to be a Stormtrooper from the beginning. As far back as I remember, I mean. There's nothing else."

"I see." _How bleak._

"I… I mean it wasn't all that bad. I was in the Sanitation and Maintenance Contingency. I wasn't even meant to enter battle."

"Ah. You weren't prepared for it. It must have been quite a shock when it happened, then."

More pearling of sweat on brow. More desperate mopping. Cruelly, Sigmund held back, refraining from offering help, solace or the clean silk handkerchief that Martha provided him with each morning.

 _Out with it, boy. Tell me._

"I… I was ordered to partake in a flash operation. A quick strike against the enemy. Resistance interests, I mean. Phasma was clear on the orders. Capture any Resistance fighters you encounter and seize any information that they're carrying. A Double Top Class A operation, led by Commander Ren himself."

"Go on."

"I'd never been in battle before. It was utter chaos. A native village in flames, inhabitants sceaming and attempting to escape or defend their homes… F-21767, the guy who'd always made fun of me for being too chubby to pass the standard requirements, died in my arms, reaching out for me with his last breath… It was all too much to take. I couldn't stand it. I needed to get out."

"And then, there was the Commander. General Organa's son, I mean. Striding through the chaos, meting out death with the flick of his hand…."

He shuddered.

Sigmund nodded. "All right, so your first taste of battle wasn't what you'd expected. It created a deep trauma where you started doubting your true purpose there. Then what?"

"They… They brought a prisoner back with them. We did, I mean. They. We. The…"

"All right, all right, I understand. The First Order. Who was the prisoner?"

"A Resistance pilot, name of Poe Dameron." A brief shudder of emotion ran through the young man. Looking down, he stroked the sleeve of his battered leather jacket gently.

"This… This is his jacket. I retrieved it from the wreckage."

Sigmund frowned. This line of reasoning seemed to have skipped several crucial steps.

"Excuse me? What wreckage? And who is this pilot that we're talking about? He's obviously an important part of your experience. I know this may be difficult, but could you…"

The young man waved his questions aside. "He was taken prisoner by the First Order, okay? I freed him and the two of us escaped in a Tie Fighter. Then we were shot down and crashed on Jakku. When I came to, Poe was gone. All I could find was his jacket, charred and burnt. So I put it on and headed out into the desert."

Sigmund's frown deepened. "You put on his leather jacket? Why?"

The young man leaned back and twitched as if with mortal pain. "I don't know, okay!? I… I just wanted to keep some kind of connection to him. He was… He was the first person to really look at me and see me for who I am. For being me. He's the one who named me. He decided to call me Finn. I'd follow him to the end of the Galaxy for that alone."

Keen brown eyes fixed the young man in their gaze. "You mean you view him as a kind of parent? A father figure, perhaps?"

"NO! We were buddies, okay? I mean, we still are. Now more than ever. But-"

"But?"

"Then, I met a girl. And everything changed."

"Oh? Tell me more about this girl."

Intrigued, Sigmund leaned to one side in his antique armchair, supporting his tender jaw in his hand. Never mind that the doctors had told him that without the operation to replace his jaw with a cybernetic replica, within a year he'd be sleeping with the lost Sith and Jedi Masters of the past millennia. Force, if they wanted to make him a cyborg to keep him alive, then by all means let them come get him. In his private practice, he was still king of the castle.

"I… I met her at some kind of local trade station. Two thugs were attacking her, trying to steal her droid. So, I went in to rescue her." A slight tremble.

Sigmund frowned. Something there didn't ring quite true. In spite of his hunch, he went with the young man's version in order to gain more information.

"That was heroic of you. Did you find her attractive?"

The dark Korunnai skin tone hid what must surely be a sudden blush. "Well… well yes! So we fought the attackers down together. The girl was quite a mean fighter with that bostaff of hers. She was really grateful to me for helping her out. She… she… Yeah, she was really pretty. I mean, she still is for that matter. She's…"

Sigmund's eyebrows rose in interest. No matter that his new patient was clearly tailoring the truth somewhat in order to appear more impressive. The important thing was that in doing so, he was revealing his main motivations and the driving forces of his character.

"She's…?"

The blush deepened. "I knew I couldn't tell her that I was a Stormtrooper deserter, right? So I told her that I was with the Resistance. Then, we stole an old junk heap of a space freighter and escaped off Jakku as the First Order attacked. Poe's droid came with us. The girl had found it and taken care of it after the crash."

"Hm. So you told her that you were a Resistance fighter in order to impress her? Well, that's understandable. If she'd found out you were a former Stormtrooper she wouldn't have… trusted you, right?"

The young man reared defensively. "It… It wasn't like that! I wasn't trying to impress her or anything! No matter what the droid implied! I… Well, we fixed some mechanical issues on that old freighter together. But then the former owner of the ship turned up and hauled us into his vessel by means of a tractor beam. Apparently he was some kind of ancient space pirate legend or something, because Rey recognized his name immediately. Han Solo."

Sigmund twitched and cursed internally.

 _Fuck! I knew those damned Organa referrals were going to cause trouble. These people all know each other and are tangled up together. I wouldn't be surprised if Ben Solo turns up somewhere in all this as well. Ah, this is certainly a mess. I'll have to place a holocam message to the Prin… to General Organa and ask her to kindly not send me any more of her relatives or Resistance fighters. They're all just coming here to vent about each other._

The young man was mopping at his brow again, indicating that the story was causing him some amount of stress.

"Well, the old man was smuggling some kind of space monsters on his freighter. They broke free and attacked us. But not before two rivalizing gangs of space pirates had turned up to confront him. It was all really confusing. I was just trying to stay alive and protect Rey. The monsters killed and ate some of the pirates. Shit, they almost ate… Well, any way, we managed to break out and escape on the old freighter. The Millenium Falcon, old man Solo called it.

 _Ah, here we go… Nothing new in the Galaxy, is there?It's all interconnected. You start to pull a thread at one end, and the main tangle begins to unravel… I'll be damned if I'll give Jung the pleasure of admitting to some kind of half assed connectivity theory, though! This young man's attraction to the girl and his will to impress her are clearly the driving forces here. Lacking a proper father figure, he needs to resort to lying and constructing a new false self for himself. Ah, this is more interesting than I thought!_

There was a glazed look in the former Stormtrooper's eyes. "Solo and his Wookie friend Chewbacca brought us along to Takodana. To this ancient castle that was in fact a seedy space tavern, run by this old… I don't know to describe her, all right? Mas Kanata. Tiny creature, ancient looking, with a round head like an orange with huge goggles. She… she exposed me as a fraud in front of the whole company. Rey was really upset. She ran off and disappeared. I decided to leave the place, I mean I was really ashamed. But then…"

Sigmund's eyes sharpened. "But then?"

The patient's breathing turned fast and sharp. Was he on the verge of having a panic attack?

"The… The First Order attacked! There must have been spies in that place or something. Everything was chaos. Old man Solo, his Wookie and I were all fighting to stay alive. One of them attacked and tried to kill me. One of my brothers. A fellow Stormtrooper, I mean. So, I had to kill him. I did it instinctively, with that blue lightsaber weapon that Rey had given me. Force, it was the first time that I'd killed a man! And one of my own! I… I can't even…" He leaned forward and sobbed, hiding his face in his hands.

Sigmund waited sufficiently long enough for the sobbing to subside. With a deep sigh of regret, he leaned forward and offered the patient the fresh silk handkerchief that his wife had handed him to put into his jacket pocket this morning.

"Here you go. Take this."

A deep shudder ran through him as the young man blew his nose audibly in the fine silken folds. Sigmund's voice had a certain edge as he resumed.

"Rey handed you a lightsaber? Where did she find it? And when did that happen?"

The former Stormtrooper shook his head in some confusion. "Well, that was before. Before I decided to leave, I mean. She found it in some underground storage area of Mas Kanata's."

Sigmund's frown deepened. "But you're not a Force sensitive. How did you know how to handle that kind of weapon?"

The young man reared defensively. "How do you know I'm not a Force sensitive!? I know how to fight with a lightsaber just as good as any man! I… I mean I defeated that guy, didn't I? So don't you question my ability to use it!"

He half rose as if to approach Sigmund in his chair. The old psychoanalyst didn't even bat an eyelid. He did, however, surreptitiously press an insignificant looking knob or button on the armrest of his chair.

"Why, that certainly testifies to extraordinary skill. Sounds like you handled the situation admirably. That must have been a terrifying scene. How did you manage to escape off Takodana in spite of the Third Order attacking?"

The new patient was breathing heavily, mopping at his sweaty brow with Sigmund's ruined handkerchief.

"The… the Resistance arrived, okay? They bailed us out. Poe… Poe was one of them. Poe Dameron, my… my…"

Sigmund's eyes were laser keen. "Your… _friend_ from the Resistance, right? Now, that must have been a relief. To see him alive, I mean!"

"Yes! Oh yes! I mean, I didn't reunite with him until we'd reached D'Qar safely. He… He told me that I looked good in his jacket. He told me to keep it."

A certain reverberation in the young man's voice made Sigmund raised a bushy eyebrow.

 _Feelings? Hm, not just for the girl, but even stronger for this Resistance pilot that he freed and who gave him his jacket in return? Ah, this is interesting! Maybe the girl is nothing but a red herring. Maybe his real interest lies with… But of course, he'd never acknowledge that without at least three or four years of psychoanalysis. He'd…_

A brief efficient knock on the door. Chrysella Klein entered without waiting for her emplyer to grant her admittance. She was carrying a tray with a cut crystal carafe of ice water and two crystal goblets.

"Refreshments, Herr Doctor?" She set the tray down solicitously on Sigmund's desk, effectively providing a barrier between the two men. As he caught the look in her green eyes, Sigmund shook his head imperceptibly.

"Thank you, Chrysella. How very good of you. I don't think we need anything else, though. I'll let you know if we do."

She nodded, briefly and efficiently. Having filled the two goblets, she offered one to the former Stormtrooper while shooting him a sharp assessing glance.

"Th… Thanks." The young man blinked repeatedly, staring distractedly at her cleavage.

Nodding briskly, Chrysella exchanged another glance with her employer.

"Just let me know if you need anything else, Herr Doctor." She sashayed out of her employer's work space, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar behind her.

 _Refreshments. Now that is a good code word. Of course, Chrysella doesn't need a lightsaber to deal with potential problems. I mean, I did offer to provide her with one, but she declined._

The patient was refilling his glass for the second time, gobbling down water like a man stumbling into a Mos Eisly cantina after being lost in the deserts of Tatooine for weeks.

"So you were reunited with your friend. How very fortunate. I'm sure that meant a lot to you. So, what about the girl? What happened to her?"

His voice was polite, indifferent. However, the young man started in his armchair and managed to upset the glass into his lap. More desperate dabbing with the ruined handkerchief.

The former Stormtrooper raised huge panic stricken eyes to stare at Sigmund.

"She… He… I mean, she was abducted! He carried her unconscious onto his spacecraft just before our very eyes! And then he killed his own father with a lightsaber! I was there, I saw it! He chased us through the snowy woods and attacked Rey! I had to fight him! I… I…"

Sigmund raised his hand in a calming, soothing gesture. "There, there. Who did all this? And where were these snowy woods located? You just said that you were reunited with your pilot friend on D'Qar."

The young man's eyes were wide and staring. Worryingly, his body had tensed up like a steel coil, ready to spring. Sigmund's index finger fondled the disguised alarm button on his armrest.

"Who do you think I'm talking about? Commander Ren, of course! He abducted Rey, murdered Han Solo as we watched, and chased Rey and me into the woods on Starkiller Base! He used telekinesis to hurl her into a tree and render her unconscious. Then, he went at me with his lightsaber. Or, I mean I went at him with mine too. I wasn't about to let him take her. No, Sir."

Now, this was the problem with PTSD cases. The closer you brought them to the source of their trauma, the more unpredictable and likely to attack they became. This young man was certainly no different. Thankful that his bodyguard receptionist had left the door a slight bit open, he leaned forward towards the former Stormtrooper.

"That's very brave of you! It certainly sounds like you've suffered some extremely harrowing experiences. How did the lightsaber fight go?"

The patient stared at him. "You really think so? You think that I'm brave? I mean, I lost the fight. Commander Ren knocked me out and burned my back with the crossguard of his lightsaber. I honestly don't know why he didn't kill me."

 _Ah, you poor boy. He didn't bother killing you because he didn't think that you were worthy of the effort. You weren't his real target, except as an object of jealousy and contempt. He was after the girl._

"Well, you managed to fight a man with 20 years of lightsaber training and survive. Not many can boast of that. Do you remember anything of your escape?"

The young man shook his dark head ruefully. "No. I was unconscious. Out cold. I've been told that Rey and Chewbacca managed to carry me onto the Millenium Falcon and escape before Starkiller Base was ripped apart by the sabotage coordinates that we had programmed. I was in bacta for a month. Ever since I got out, I've been in weapons and martial arts training! I've trained piloting with Poe too. Believe me, next time I come up against Commander Ren, I'll be ready to take him on!"

The new patient had half risen out of the chair again, his every muscle tense and coiled. Sigmund frowned slightly.

"This is a matter of revenge for you? Of getting even with the man who bested you in one to one combat, and who also represents the First Order's control over your life?"

The moment after the words left his mouth, he could have slapped himself for his stupidity. His new patient wasn't ready for that kind of third party interpretation of his actions. He was far too open and vulnerable, far too much in need of stability and guidance. Force, he really didn't enjoy taking on cases like this.

"I… I don't know, okay? I just know that I'm a true Resistance fighter now. I have a name. Now, no one can order me around or say that they're better than me. I feel great. Better than I ever did in my whole life. I don't get why General Organa sent me here."

He'd risen and was approaching Sigmund, hand outstretched. Momentarily, the old psychoanalyst panicked. Then, he rose and took the young man's hand and shook it in a firm grasp.

"Well, then I wish you my sincere congratulations, Finn! You've managed to transform yourself from an anonymous Stormtrooper, a number in a crowd, to an individual in your own right. Now, I must confess that I don't believe in free will, but that's another matter altogether. I wish you much luck on your future path."

The former Stormtrooper nodded and released his hand. "Thank you, Doctor Freud. Now, I've really got to go. This was real good. You're a true healer of the mind."

Leaving the old psychoanalyst shaking his head and rubbing his aching jaw, he hurried out of the room, making the door slam shut behind him.

Sigmund sat down heavily in his chair and took out his notebook. Jotting down his observations and musings, he attempted to make sense of his last case. A brisk rapping on the door disturbed his peace.

"Yes?"

Chrysella Klein entered, wearing her provocative Thursday dress and something of a frown.

"Herr Doctor? I just wanted to inform you that the previous patient didn't want to book any future appointments. He seemed to be under the impression that the treatment just consisted of a sole session."

Sigmund sighed. "Yes, so I gathered. A lost case, I'm afraid, Chrysella. I mean, there is a huge amount of stuff to work with there, and the General is willing to pay for a lengthy treatment. But the young man himself is convinced that he's cured and on the right path in life. While I'm not certain I agree, I appreciate the radical changes that he's made to his life. It saddens me that he's not ready to explore or understand the true meaning of them. Ah well, you win some and you lose some. That's life in our business, Chrysella. Now, has my 10 o'clock arrived yet?"

"I'll check, Herr Doctor."

As the door slammed shut behind her retreating backside, Sigmund sunk back into his armchair to rub his aching jaw. The words in his notebook caught his eye.

 _Some people have the knack for psychoanalysis. It's an odd adage, but it's true. Some know how to do it, and some don't._

 _And some just quit prematurely, when the treatment's barely started._

Next Chapter: Matt


	4. Matt

_Cancer is defined as the uncontrollable growth of cells that invade and cause damage to surrounding tissue. Oral cancer appears as a growth or sore in the mouth that does not go away. Oral cancer, which includes cancers of the lips, tongue, cheeks, floor of the mouth, hard and soft palate, sinuses, and pharynx (throat), can be life threatening if not diagnosed and treated early._

* * *

 _Well here's to ya, Sigmund. Ya handsome son of a gun._

Sigmund was staring into his bathroom mirror, shaking his head in wonder. The habitual act of rubbing his sore jaw rendered a stunning and frighteningly unexpected result.

Nothing. No pain.

The skin was miraculously smooth and shiny, velvety soft underneath his fingers, every nerve ending alive and vibrant. Not even numb. He looked 20 years younger than before the surgical procedure.

Also, he felt oddly alienated by his newly rejuvenated face.

So he'd given in to Martha's and the children's pleas and allowed the med droids to set to work on him. To tear his flesh apart to replace the rotting pieces with bright new artificial ones, cloned in the Kaminoan labs that now contained Force knew how many potential replicas of the Galaxy's most famous psychoanalyst.

All right, so he was being an ungrateful bastard. Never kriffing mind. They'd kept him alive, and that's what counted.

With a deep sigh, Sigmund exited and shut the door behind him carefully. Only to come face to face with his receptionist, seated behind her carved ebony desk. He frowned.

Had the surgery altered his sensory perception permanently, or was there something radically different about her that he hadn't noticed before? Or were the painkiller drugs still affecting him?

Thinner. Paler, almost wan. A little girl lost, yet a grown woman. Neither wearing her usual tailored grey business suit nor one of her spectacularly provocative dresses, but a simple high necked black bodysuit. That and matching dark hollows underneath her eyes.

His frown deepened. "Chrysella? Are you all right?"

Behind the desk, the girl started violently. " What!? Yes, yes of course Herr Doctor! What can I do for you?"

Her face arranged itself into a smooth mask of professionalism as she rose to hand him a piece of paper.

"This is today's schedule. As you can see we have a number of new patients coming in."

Sigmund's professional reflexes kicked in. He scanned the page briefly, raising an eyebrow at the girl. Yet, his thoughts were fluttering distractedly.

 _Force, did they pluck my eyebrows while they were at it? I mean I don't remember them being this marked, let alone my eyelashes being this long. Well, maybe when I was a child, but-_

He pushed the disturbing recollection of his bathroom mirror image firmly aside to focus on the printout sheet. Another frown marred his freshly minted features as he read the list out loud.

"9.00: Miklo Delbart. 10.00: Clariel Parke. Hm, well those are certainly new ones. Let's see… 14.00: Matt: Radar Technician… What's this, Chrysella? Is there a malfunction in the offices? I didn't even know we had a radar."

He almost but not quite caught his receptionist rolling her eyes visibly at him. _Aha!_ Well he'd seen her give him _that_ look before.

"No, Herr Doctor. The 14.00 is a new patient, name of Matt, profession as stated. He had his booking assigned by holocam message, sent by a droid. Ms Parke is a reporter and writer who booked an appointment for an interview with you. I checked her references on the holonet and she's quite legit, although she's been known to write some fairly lurid and spectacular reports by going undercover to investigate organized crime and the… ah, pornography industry."

""All right. So a patient then." Sigmund didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Yes, probably. As for Mr Delbart, I'm sure you recognize the name."

"Yes, of course. The Vice Chancellor. As in vice… oh, pardon me, Chrysella. Well, that's quite an honour then.

Chrysella Klein shrugged. "Oh, that's quite all right, Herr Doctor. Everyone knows the Vice Chancellor. He's…"

The memory of a tabloid photo of a nude, spectacularly handsome and well-endowed man passed before Sigmund's eyes. He blanched momentarily and shook his head.

"Yes. Quite. Oh, and Chrysella. You might want to make sure he doesn't run into Ms Parke on the way out. I mean, considering her past as an undercover … actress."

His receptionist nodded and shot him a brief smile. Some colour had returned to her cheeks.

"Of course, Herr Doctor! And the 14.00?"

Sigmund shook his head distractedly. "What, the handyman? Don't worry about it, Chrysella! Just make sure he pays the bill."

* * *

Name: Matt

Profession: Radar Technician

Force sensitive: Yes

Age: 30

Place of birth: Coruscant

Current residence: Starkiller Base II

Reason for contact: Dissociative Personality Disorder?

Mode of pay: Cash

Other: Cf registry forms BS23 and KR93 (in archive)

* * *

Chrysella Klein stared at the new patient, perplexed. Apart from a toolkit that he'd parted with easily enough, there had been no weapons whatsoever to lock into The Cabinet. The bright orange utility vest seared her retinas badly. All right, so maybe that was the reason? Maybe she was hallucinating? Years of exposure to unstable individuals could do that to a person. She if anyone would know. But still.

There it was.

The nose. She'd know that nose anywhere. There just weren't two of those in the Galaxy. No Sir. Nosesi-

Shaking her head briefly, she managed to assemble her boggling mind.

"All right. I'll just announce you through the intercom and Doctor Freud will see you immediately. By the way, that's a very becoming hair colour." Her eyelashes fluttered shyly.

The new patient gestured impatiently at her. "Yes, yes Chrysella. It looks all right. Needs touching up every three weeks or so though, or it'll start turning yellow. I mean, it's entirely natural. Just announce me to Doctor Freud already! Getting here was an endless series of hassles. And I haven't even had my lunch yet."

He hauled a baked object out of a utility pocket and started munching away absentmindedly.

Chrysella's green eyes widened. "You might want to… I mean these carpets are fairly expensive and Herr Doctor Freud doesn't like crumbs all over…."

The new patient frowned at her with dark eyebrows that contrasted ludicrously with his hair. A sullen dark eyed stare. "What, this here muffin's bothering you, Chrysella? Just kriffing stop stressing me out, will you?"

She jumped visibly in her seat. "Why… Why of course, Commander R… Matt, I mean. You just wait here while I go announce you to Doctor Freud."

A dark glance of annoyance stopped her short. "Is the intercom malfunctioning, Chrysella? All right, show me and I'll fix it for you easily enough. For free, I mean. It doesn't have a kriffing calcinator, does it? Those things need regular rewiring."

Chrysella started. "N…no! I mean, no, there's nothing wrong with the intercom. I just thought-"

"Well then. Just announce me as usual, will you?"

The receptionist sat down automatically. A swift tap on the intercom allowed her voice to enter her employer's office space.

"Y… Your 14 o'clock is here, Herr Doctor. Matt, the Radar Technician. Oh, and I'll be bringing refreshments. As scheduled, I mean."

The new patient frowned briefly and pushed the door to the inner office open briskly without knocking.

* * *

"You bleached your hair, Ben? I mean, K…. Sorry, Matt is it?" Sigmund stared down at his 14.00 patient with professional interest.

One of the man's long legs kicked out in annoyance. "No, of course I didn't, Sigmund! This is a wi-… A cosmetic augmentation. It's a safety precaution, okay?"

In his seat. Sigmund shook his head in bafflement. Recollecting himself was a supremely trying task, so he kept forcing himself to stare into the eyes of his portrait on the opposite wall.

"Well then, Be… I mean Ky… _Matt_. I mean Matt _._ What kind of assignment are you currently on?"

 _Fuck! What's next? Ben comes here dressed as General Organa? Or wearing a Wookie suit? Well, never mind. I guess the cat's out of the bag now. This boy doesn't know who or what the kriff he is. So by all means. Better let him try out all possible options and see where he'll end up. If he ever lands anywhere, that is._

A sudden thought struck him. "What about your parents, Matt? Who are they again?"

The gangly young man gestured irritatedly at him "You leave my parents out of this, okay? My father in particular. They're not important!" Agitated breathing.

 _Ah okay. So I was right. He's attempting to escape the trauma of having killed his father by developing a new identity. Which is of course failing badly. I wonder if I should notify the General? But no. Ben needs to deal with this himself._

"So, what do you want to talk about today, Matt?" Sigmund's voice was calm and soothing.

The young man rubbed unconsciously at his right cheek. The faint trace of a scar was virtually nonexistent, in fact only visible in case you knew for a fact it should be there.

"I… Well I went into bacta for a while. The med droids were really good. I mean I was shocked, I-"

He sat up suddenly to stare at Sigmund with accusing eyes.

"And you! You sound like Sigmund, but you don't look like him! You're much younger. Who are you? A clone placed here by the Resistance?"

Sigmund jerked back in his seat. Of course, he'd realized that some of his patients might react badly to his altered appearance. Particularly someone as paranoid and unstable as young Ben Solo. For some reason though, he didn't press the hidden alarm button on his armchair. Instead, he met his patient's eyes square on.

"I had a surgical procedure, B… Matt. It was a matter of life and death. I'm aware it did alter my looks somewhat. However, I can assure you that I am the same person. Now, if you lie down on the divan again and close your eyes, I know that you'll sense this. All right?"

Ben Solo stared at him intensely as the seconds ticked by. Then, he suddenly caved and settled back on the red velvet.

"All right, Sigmund. I guess the change in you's legit. What do you want to know?"

 _Force. That was close!_

"Why don't you tell me about this new regime of training that the Supreme Leader's put you onto, Matt?"

"Yeah. Now, that was unexpected. Right after I got out of bacta, he ordered me to… To… Well to go undercover on the new Starkiller Base. He said I needed to have some real talk with some real folks."

Sigmund nodded sagely. "Yes. That makes sense. And how did you find your employees, Ky… B… Never mind. Did you make any new friends?"

"NO! Working on Starkiller Base straight up sucks, Sigmund! My chief of staff keeps yelling at me and stressing me out. Those kriffing Stormtroopers are forever disturbing my work and kicking my wrenches. Seriously, I'm so upset right now. I think I may have developed an eating disorder in the process."

He reached into a utility pocket and hauled out a baked object to wolf it down, scattering the divan liberally with crumbs in the process.

 _Ah. Attempting to console himself by means of… muffins? That reminds me, I didn't have dessert after luncheon today, did I? I really need to remind Chrysella to order a takeout. What's the name of that place that does those fruit tarts again? Something quaint. The… The Airbender's?_

Sigmund reined his wandering mind in tightly.

"Well Matt, at least your hair looks great. Going blond really suits you. So, what kind of work do you do on Starkiller Base then?"

The young man shrugged. "Work is work, Sigmund."

 _Hm. Being evasive, are we Ben?_

Dead silence invaded the room. Sigmund waited, patient. He'd played that particular game since before his young patient was born. Of course, there was no way this impulsive, explosive boy could hold out.

"All right, Sigmund! You win. I mean, it's been kriffing hard. My co-workers are a bunch of stupid jerks. I mean, I can mindread all of them easy as… as muffins. Goddamn it Sigmund, now look what you've done! You've made me hungry again!" He started searching his utility pockets agitatedly.

Sigmund's voice was calm. "Hold on a moment with that, Matt! I promise I'll get Chrysella to order a takeout right after the session's finished. Now, tell me about the stupid things your co-workers do."

Another angry kick at thin air.

"They… They don't have any sense of proper respect, Sigmund!"

"What, for you? Or for the work you do?" Sigmund frowned.

"Well, yeah! Or no, I mean, not for me. For their… _our_ boss. For Kylo Ren, I mean." The angular features blushed bright scarlet.

"Oh. I see."

"They're forever badmouthing m… _Kylo Ren_ in the canteen. I mean, just the other day I casually pointed out that a friend of mine saw Kylo Ren in the shower, and that he was shredded. That he has an eight pack. Which is totally true, as I'll have you know, Sigmund!"

"I'm sure it is, Matt, I'm sure it is." Sigmund's voice was soothing. Anyway, judging from what he'd seen of the boy in his different disguises, it certainly looked probable.

"Now you, Sigmund! You know the truth when you see it, don't you! You're a wise man. But there's this fool, one of the Stormtroopers, known as Tim… I mean, he always takes his helmet off non regulation in the canteen, so I've never been able to check his ID number, but Tim's what all the others call him. Anyway, he kept making fun of Kylo Ren in public. Called him 'a little punk bitch in a dress.' So ended up having to Force choke him and throw him into the soda machine."

Sigmund's eyebrows flew up. "Excuse me? Would… Wouldn't that kind of demonstration of your Force powers have… drawn some unwelcome attention to you?"

The patient gestured dismissively. "Ah, no problem. Everyone thought he was choking on his lunch. He even ended up believing it himself."

"Oh. I see."

"Yes. Quite. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to teach Tim a lesson. Oh no. Far from it, Sigmund. Next thing you know, he's calling Kylo's lightsaber 'weird looking' in front of everyone. Now, that really was the last straw. The man needed a lesson. No I didn't kill him, Sigmund! That would have blown my cover. I don't want to fail my training. No, instead I went and fetched Kylo Ren's lightsaber to show that son of a dung eating bantha just how weird looking that kind of weapon is in real life. They all got shit scared, Sigmund! Tim was blabbering, begging me to put it away because it looked dangerous. Finally some recognition! So, I just hurled it into some electrical appliances. The explosion was very effective. Aesthetically pleasing, too. Looked like fireworks."

"And still no one commented on your… ah, cover, Matt?"

 _No, they wouldn't have._ _They probably all realized who he was and were shit scared._

"No. These people are too stupid to notice true Force powers when they see them. The worst thing is though, they don't believe I'll… I mean, that Kylo will finish what Darth Vader started. Although one of the officers did express sympathy for him. He said that Kylo gets a bad rap. That he has an undeservedly bad reputation I mean. Oh Force, I bet that son of a bantha Hux has been spreading lies about me to make me look bad in the eyes of the troops. No doubt, he's hoping that sooner or later, word will reach the Supreme Leader, and… Kylo will get reprimanded. And those reprimands… Believe me, you wouldn't like one of those, Sigmund!"

"No, I believe I wouldn't."

"Anyways, so one of the officers at least gave Kylo some credit. He acknowledged that attempting to control everything, the whole Galaxy I mean, was impressive."

 _He's speaking about himself in the third person. Now that's never a good sign. And yes, I knew the boy suffered from OCD, but this? I'd no idea it that was on a Galactic scale. And why is he blushing?_

Allowing himself to be guided by sheer instinct, ignoring his increasing craving for a sweet, Sigmund chose the loose end of a thread and tugged at it experimentally.

"This co-worker of yours, this officer… He appears to be friendly. Have the two of you found something to bond over apart from this… ah… common admiration for Kylo Ren?"

The blush deepened. "I… I guess you could say that, Sigmund. I mean, he confided something to me. He confided that his son, who was in the Stormtrooper program, had died recently. That… that really struck a nerve with me."

 _Empathy?_ Now, that was unexpected.

"I'm sorry, Ben… er, Matt? I didn't quite get the last words. I may look younger, but I'm still an old man. I'm afraid you're going to have to speak up."

"I SAID that kriffing struck a nerve with me! Because I… I may have been the one responsible for the accident in which his son died."

Over his years in practice, Sigmund had mastered the art of sighing soundlessly to perfection.

"Accident?"

The patient's leg kicked out in annoyance again. "Well, it really was an accident, Sigmund! I mean, I didn't kill the kriffing fool intentionally. He just happened to walk into my rooms when I was having a… _ah_ …a private moment. Reminiscing about that scavenger girl from Takodana, if you necessarily have to know. In order to recall crucial information."

"Reminiscing?"

The deep red blush contrasted badly with the ludicrously bleached blond wig.

"Well you know Sigmund, it isn't easy being a Force sensitive. In order to achieve things, you sometimes need to… use physical techniques. Besides, it's not as if I'm in kriffing Jedi training any more, is it?"

 _Jerking off. Now, why in the Force's name didn't he say that in the first place? Well, that makes his reaction slightly more understandable. No man likes to have his employees walk in on him in that kind of vulnerable situation. Why, just imagine if Chrysella were to-_

He hastily broke off that chain of thought.

"No, of course not, Matt. I mean, we've discussed that topic several times before. It's completely natural to have human needs and to satisfy them."

The young man wasn't taking any notice of him. "Well I was, you know, getting really close when he burst in. And I mean, I swear it was just by pure instinct but I hurled him into the wall by means of telekinesis and… and then he just lay there. I mean I was yelling at him to get up and all. No response. Seems the impact had broken his neck."

"So, so I mean I really tried to make amends to the officer. I even got him this card from the Starkiller Base Gift Shop. Real cute too. 'After the Rain comes the Rainbow' with a little foldup rainbow. I mean, Kylo Ren stopped me the very same day and handed me that card. In it was a handwritten apology where he told the officer how very very sorry he was for having killed his son. He was asking his forgiveness, Sigmund! And I could tell it worked. When he opened that little card, his features just lit up. I felt all warm and tingly, Sigmund! Lighter than I've ever felt since… since…"

 _Well, I'll be! Now this is a major breakthrough. Ben found a means of working through his guilt for slaying his father by means of apologizing to another father for killing his son. Like he himself killed Ben Solo, symbolically. Well done, Ben!_

"Ever since the, ah… untimely death of your father. Yes, B…Matt, I understand. I think it was a very sweet gesture."

The Radar Technichan had covered his glasses with the back of his arm.

"I doubt that the Supreme Leader would approve."

"No, I doubt he would."

"I… I mean I'm still his employee."

"Well, if one is dissatisfied with the work tasks, one can always quit the job, Matt."

The young man shook his head gravely. "Not this one, Sigmund. Not this one."

He sat up on the divan. "That's it for today. I need to get back to work. I mean, in spite of everything, I've a newfound respect for what my co-workers do. This means something to me now. Same time next Wednesday, Sigmund?"

Sigmund focused. Then, he decided to take a gamble. "I'm sorry, Matt, but no. I was just able to offer you the 14.00 appointment today because another patient had called in sick. A regular, so it's nothing personal. I'd like to offer you the Monday 10 o'clock appointment instead. If that's all right with you."

A penetrating dark stare. Then, a curt nod.

"All right, Sigmund. 10 o'clock next Monday it is. Thanks."

He rose and exited with a curt nod, flinging the door open to let it swing back shut with a dramatic bang.

* * *

"Yes, Herr Doctor? You wanted something?"

"Yes, Chrysella. I'd like you to please send a holocam message to The Airbender's to get us both some sweets and caf. Let's say ten fruit tarts and ten muffins. Tell them to provide a good mix of flavours."

The green eyes opened wide in surprise. "Are we celebrating, Herr Doctor? In that case, may I ask what the occasion is? Oh, I see. The successful outcome of your surgery?"

Sigmund shook his bearded head. "No, no, Chrysella. We're not celebrating anything. I just felt a sudden urge for sweets. Also, there is this matter we need to discuss. I'm making some slight alterations to the Monday patient scheduling. It might require some ah… additional attention on your part."

She frowned. "We have a new high risk patient coming in, Herr Doctor?"

"No, no. I just want to avoid a violent confrontation in the waiting room between the 9.00 and the 10.00 patients. Still, I believe they need to meet under civilized conditions."

"So, they already know each other? The 10.00 on Mondays is still open. Who do you want me to book there?"

"Why, this young man who just left. Matt, The Radar Technician."

The green eyes went into full circle mode out of astonishment. "But Herr Doctor! That's no real radar technician! That's, that's…"

Sigmund nodded calmly. "Yes, yes, Chrysella. I am aware of who he is."

"And the 9.00 is… oh."

As their eyes met, Sigmund nodded significantly.

"Yes, Chrysella. Quite.

* * *

 _Sigmund Freud died in 1939 in Hampstead, London, aged 83. For 16 years, he had been suffering from oral cancer, caused by heavy smoking. The cause of death was a lethal dose of morphine, administered as euthanasia by his friend and doctor, Max_ _Scour_


	5. Hux

"Ah! Good morning, Chrysella! Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

Bounding into the offices with a sprightly stride, the venerable Doctor Freud nodded benevolently at his receptionist. She returned the greeting, somewhat taken aback.

"It's… It's snowing, Herr Doctor. Maybe you'd want to check…" She shook her head. "Never mind. Here are the fact sheets for today's patients. I mean, since you took the morning off, there aren't that many…"

Her employer waved a cheerily dismissive hand at her. "Yes, yes. Taking a bit of an extended weekend here, Chrysella! The kids are coming home for the Spring Holidays, and Martha and the house droids are all busy putting up the decorations. As for myself, I think I'll just sit down and enjoy a good cigar. Well, you may leave early today, Chrysella! It seems our afternoon patients have all opted out. I do believe this may be a record breaking list of cancellations." He hurled the printout sheet down at her desk.

Chrysella Klein, kitted out in a tight festive yellow dress with soft feather trimmings, shook her brunette head.

"No! I mean Herr Doctor, of course it's lovely to be celebrating the upcoming Spring Equinox. The Coruscant weather certainly needs a heat boost. I'm sure we'll all do our best to help cheer Spring into returning. Although as for myself, I do not smoke. I've done my very best to…"

She gestured at the bonfire burning cheerily in the usually shut down grate. The timepieces signalling Galactic Time were all glowing with an iridescent hue. The huge ebony desk was trimmed with multicoloured feathers and tiny jewelled eggs. However, her employer seemed unmoved by all these festive efforts.

"Yes, yes, Chrysella. This all looks wonderful. Absolutely superb. Now, since there seems to be no patients coming in today, I'll just sit down and do some writing. To conclude the ongoing cases, I mean. I'm sure you have some administrative chores to do."

She frowned. "No! I mean, yes, but there's a new patient coming in! Right now, well in some 15 minutes! We had a call from the First Order."

Sigmund stopped dead in his tracks.

"The First Order called? Don't tell me their Supreme Leader's coming in. And don't tell me it's Ben Solo, because according to the records he called in to cancel all appointments until the Spring Holidays are over. So did every other sensible patient of mine. Kriff, I never thought I'd call them that… Well, never mind. So, who's this then? "

He scanned the prematurely discarded printout sheet. "Oh. All right. Never heard of him. Well, never mind! I mean, how hard can it be? It's the Holidays! Now, I'm going to have my cigar."

 _And maybe a shot of Rach'yan with that too, eh, Herr Doctor?_ Chrysella shook her head.

* * *

Name: Armitage _Hugs_ Hux

Profession: Army Officer

Rank: Classified

Force sensitive: No (duh)

Age: 29

Place of birth: Arkanis

Current residence: Classified

Reason for contact: OCD

Mode of Pay: First Order tab

Other: Refused to hand over weapons for Cabinet security containment in spite of repeated exhortations to do so. Did not surrender to safety regulations until staff resorted to last call Force Sensitivity Duty.

Kriffing jerk.

* * *

"You need to replace your receptionist. Her rudeness is unprecedented. If any of my staff behaved like that towards a superior officer, I'd have them reconditioned at once."

 _Well she's not one of your staff is she? This is my private office and you're on my turf…_

Puffing on the remnants of his cigar, Sigmund exhaled an impressive cloud of smoke.

"…General Hux, I presume? I'm Sigmund Freud. Welcome to my practice." He remained seated in his comfortable armchair.

The redheaded young man cleared his throat pointedly. He remained standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Hrrr-hum. Well Doctor Freud, rumours have it you're the best practitioner in the business. I think… I mean I hope… Hrrr-hum…"

The immaculately gloved hands were fidgeting distractedly. On a cruel whim, the old psychoanalyst kept him standing awkwardly in the middle of the jewel coloured carpet.

"Yes? You were hoping I'd…?" He raised a curious eyebrow at the new patient.

The redheaded officer pulled one of his black leather gloves off and proceeded to fiddle nervously with it.

"I… I've gathered that you have a reputation for knowing how to deal with Force sensitives. Difficult ones. Well, in my opinion that's all of them. Listen, can I take a seat? Or do you intend to keep me standing here? This kind of behaviour is really unprecedented. Do you know who I am? I'm…"

Sigmund's dark eyes were sharp. "Yes. I know who you are. You're General Hux of the First Order. The one who ordered the destruction of the Hosnian System. Kindly lie down on the divan."

The red headed officer straightened nervously under the penetrating stare. "I… I don't get to sit down or something? That armchair over there…" A vague gesture.

"No. I gather someone of your standing requires the procedure of psychoanalysis to be properly executed. Indeed, as my patient you don't deserve inferior treatment. This is the way it's done. Kindly take place on the divan. You'll find it very comfortable."

Moving as stiffly as a cardboard figure, the redheaded officer settled down to a horizontal position on the soft red velvet couch. His uniformed body remained rigid as a board.

 _Ah. What an interesting interruption to my daily schedule. This one's already getting on my nerves. I wonder what his story is? Why would he seek me out?_

The second black leather glove had come off. The patient was fretting with his hands, picking at already frayed cuticles.

Sigmund's voice was hypnotic. "Now then. Tell me why you'd need the help of someone well versed in the manner of Force sensitives?"

The patient's left foot was tapping insistently into thin air. A ridiculous little army cap still remained plastered to his red hair.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me about my parents or something? I mean… I thought that kind of comes with the game. You may be overrated, as far as I can tell."

Sigmund's dark eyes narrowed slightly. However, his voice just became deeper, more soothing. "Are your parents relevant to the current issue? The one that brought you here? Then why certainly. Were your parents Force sensitives?"

"No! You're missing the whole point. Both my parents are dead. They've got nothing whatsoever to do with the current issue."

"I see."

Sigmund waited, as patient and alert as a predator. He was staring into empty space, allowing the impressions of his patient to fill his mind like an empty vessel.

"I… You really don't have a clue, do you? My father was General Brendol Hux, of the Imperial Military. Of The Galactic Empire, before that was brought down. I'm proud of my lineage. The New Order is… it used to be the one true representation of that lofty heritage. My place was to bring it to Galactic victory. Making us succeed in destroying all rebels and resistance scum. But they're like vermin. They propagate themselves into eternity."

The young man kept worrying at his cuticles. The left foot kept tapping into empty air to a soundless rhythm. Ever so slowly, the neat cap was sliding off his orange hair. Studying him sideways from his comfortable armchair, Sigmund frowned.

 _Force! Now this one's a rare Holiday gift, to be sure! I wonder what's hiding underneath that immaculate shell? I wonder if…_

He rapped experimentally at the neatly packaged, army regulation surface.

"So what about your current officers in command? I assume there are such people, even though you're obviously a high ranking one. But there's the Supreme Leader for one. How does he fit into your father's shoes?"

An innocent enough question. And a kriffing incendiary one.

" _NO!"_ The red headed man exploded like a tightly wound coil. He hurled his cap into the opposite wall, where it impacted with Sigmund's favourite bookcase. Startled, the old psychoanalyst pressed the button on his left armchair handle by pure reflex.

The voice issuing from the divan was vicious.

"The Supreme Leader? Oh, that's a joke all right! An offspring of Resistance leaders, following a scavenger around like a tame bantha! Force, if only I'd managed to deal with him when I had the chance! I always knew that he'd betray The Cause! And all for… all for a kriffing scrawny chit of a girl!" Saliva bristled around the officer's thin lips.

The door opened soundlessly. Through the entrance, Sigmund saw Chrysella's worried face and signalled to her with a tiny headshake.

 _No. Not yet. I've got this one. He needs to talk. It may even be of critical importance to the Galaxy that he gets the opportunity to do so. Force, I really have to get a stop button added to this alarm. And Chrysella needs a lightsaber, whether she likes it or not. That comes with the job description. Luckily I managed to get that Khyber chrystal for her Holiday gift egg. She'll know what to do with it._

The door shut soundlessly. Down on the divan, The First Order General was twisting restlessly.

"No! But… but I mean, yes! That's precisely the problem. Kr… kriffing Kylo Ren! He's a joke as a Supreme Leader! I can't handle it. I just can't. He needs to be removed, and quickly. Or he'll waste all the work we've put in, the whole structure that we've built since his Grandfather died a traitor's death. He needs to be neutralized. Kylo Ren needs to be finished, once and for all."

Sigmund choked on the remnants of his cigar. Now, this was one of the reasons he was so happy to have his patients on their backs, unable to see his facial expression.

"Excuse me? You mean Kylo Ren has been promoted to Supreme Leader of the First Order?" Now, this was shocking news indeed.

Down on the divan, the redheaded young man sneered. "You mean you haven't heard? Oh Doctor Freud, you of all people! Well, that only goes to show that Coruscant society is a morally corrupt, decaying anthill that's lost all connection to what's really happening in the Galaxy! I offer you my sincere condolences. Obviously the inferior news services here have failed spectacularly. And also, Millicent's disappeared. I can only assume that Kylo Ren tricked her and is holding her somewhere in order to use her as leverage against me."

Was this what schizophrenia felt like? Sigmund stubbed his cigar out decisively in order to get a grip on the situation. Tiny sparks singed his fingertips. He cleared his throat.

"Millicent's disappeared? Why, that must be very trying for you. And she would be your… your wife? Your girlfriend?"

"No! How dare you, you old…! You really are incompetent. Or senile. Listen, did Kylo Ren put you up to this?"

Sigmund stared down at the spasmodically jerking uniformed figure in professional interest. His right hand searched out a compartment on the side of his armchair automatically.

 _Now, where the fuck's my old service blaster? I mean, I'm sure Chrysella would help out, but I really want to spare her any drama for the Holidays. That girl's a pure diamond. She deserves a nice day with a paycheck bonus and getting off work early. None of us could have expected this. No. I need to deal with this trouble myself._

"I'm an old man, General Hux. I only have access to the Coruscant news channels. You mean that Kylo Ren's ascended to the position of… Supreme Leader?" His voice was calm and lofty. The blaster handle felt smooth and comfortable in his grasp. Inwardly, he was trembling.

"Yes!" The words were a pained bark. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

 _No, actually you didn't tell me until now. So. It would appear the fate of the Galaxy lies in the hands of Ben Solo. No wonder you're worried._

A pointed look of professional interest. His right hand clutched the old service blaster like a faithful friend. Briefly, he noted that the door was still a tiny glimpse ajar. All right, so Chrysella was at the ready. Sigmund's voice was serene.

"No. In fact, you didn't state that out loud until now. I'm grateful for that piece of information. Now, how did this come about?"

Another sneer. "Oh, it was that kriffing scavenger girl. That, and Commander Ren's despicable weakness for her. He allowed her to board our headquarter vessel. Obviously, it was a trap. The girl was sent out by the Resistance to destroy us. A travelling time bomb, set by Luke Skywalker himself. If I'd been notified before the fact, I could have acted. I could have neutralized her. As it is, I was too late. When I arrived, the Supreme Leader was already dead. So were his guards. The girl had managed to break out after the assassination. There was just that useless vermin Kylo, collapsed upon the floor in a heap. As usual, I was left to pick up the pieces. But no. KRIFFING NO! Not this time. Now, it was my turn. I've always been on standby to clear up the messes he's created. And this was the perfect time. This was the-" His fists clenched involuntarily.

"I see." Sigmund eyed the tense form with professional interest. "An act of providence occurred. You were so very close to finalizing a lifetime of professional goals. And then he woke up."

The figure on the divan jerked once, spasmodically. Pale blue eyes stared up to meet Sigmund's impenetrable dark brown ones. The look was accusing.

"Well, someone murdered Supreme Leader Snoke and his entire guard. I was too late to prevent it. I was left to clean the mess up and clear out the debris, just as usual. Just like on Starkiller Base. I always arrive too late. I'm always number two, always the second in line. But none of them could ever manage without me. It isn't fair!" The desperate cry echoed off the antique bookcases.

Sigmund's grasp on the service blaster handle relaxed. "You were second in succession. But you've always felt you were the more worthy leader of the First Order. You know where to steer them. You know the final goal and the proper strategy to get there. Yet, you've always been overlooked."

"YES! I mean, I think you may be right. That's the first sensible thing you've said since I got here. Maybe you're not so overrated after all, old man."

"Why, thank you!" Sigmund grinned wryly.

 _So, this is what Ben's had to contend with all these years. I'm impressed. The boy's really managed to master his temper way beyond my farthest expectations. Force, if I had to deal with this 24 hours per day I'd…_

"So, to recapitulate, who's Millicent? She seems to be important to you."

Prostrate on the divan, the redheaded officer recoiled and rolled over on his side. For a brief momen,t Sigmund feared he'd smash his fist through the wall, just like young Ben Solo a decade before him. Instead, there was just a bitter sigh.

"Millicent? She's my one piece of solace in this world. My cat. When we returned from the battle of Crait, in which the so-called Supreme Leader made a complete fool of himself and ensured our defeat, she was gone. Nowhere to be seen. I'm sure it's all Ky- The Supreme Leader's fault. She's gone because of his damn weakness. Chaos follows everywhere he goes. He's the opposite of order. The opposite of everything the First Order stands for. We demand structure and clarity. Purity of purpose and of sight. That's really all there is."

 _Oh. But cats are anything but orderly and predictable. So Millicent represents…_

Sigmund had suddenly become dead still. "Do you think your cat will ever return to you?"

The First Order officer shook his head slowly. "No. No, I don't think so. She's abandoned ship. There's nothing to do but to continue."

"To continue?"

"Yes. To continue what Supreme Leader Snoke started. The task comes to me. It is the only way forward. The only way out."

The redheaded man sat up and replaced his officer's hat in a perfectly symmetrical perch. As Sigmund met his pale blue gaze, his hardened heart made a single volley of fear.

 _Force. Is this the future? Then we may all be lost._

He rose and reached out to shake the younger man's hand in an automatic gesture of civility. The redheaded General ignored it. However, he clicked his heels together and gave the older man a curt nod.

"Herr Doctor Freud. I do believe your reputation's far exaggerated. However, I may find reason to visit you again in the near future. When I do, I hope to see that you've replaced your receptionist with someone with better manners. I bid you good day."

He clicked his heels together and vanished out the door, pulling on his black leather gloves.

As Sigmund sat down on the divan, his heart pounded wildly in alarm.

* * *

When Chrysella Klein entered some minutes later, that was how she found her employer. Staring frozenly into the stark wall opposite, a look of terror emblazoned on his face. Shocked, she stooped to grab and shake his shoulders.

"Herr Doctor? _Herr Doctor Freud!_ Do you hear me? Are you able to read my lips? Force, what did that rat of a man do to you? Herr Doctor-"

The old psychoanalyst pushed her hands away and rose as if lifting an enormous weight. Never had he thought he'd encounter the day when he'd been faced with the choice between saving the Galaxy and betraying a client's confidence. In the end, personal ethics outmatched professional ones.

"Chrysella. We must alert people at once. Go call Ben Solo. General Organa too. And try to get hold of that girl. Rey. The cards have been dealt and we must play our part. Or the world as we know it may be wiped out tomorrow."


End file.
